


Fate of the Moon

by SaraDobieBauer



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Courting Rituals, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fate, Fate & Destiny, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Alternating, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25709785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraDobieBauer/pseuds/SaraDobieBauer
Summary: Journalist Armie Hammer attends Timothee Chalamet's “coming out” party to get a look at the omega werewolf still suspected of having his parents killed.When Armie sees Timmy and knows they’re fated mates, well … that complicates things.They now must navigate death threats, the full moon, a murder investigation, and their dangerous bond long enough to learn to love each other.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 358
Kudos: 276





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a full length novel by the time we're done.
> 
> First draft, so comments/feedback appreciated!! Happy reading!

Timmy

He knew breathing was important, but he couldn’t remember why. Something about staying alive. What did it matter? His parents had been murdered two weeks ago, the cops had no leads, and young Timothee Chalamet might as well have died with them.

“I can’t,” he told the floor, even as his guardian stood above him.

Timmy buried his hands in his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees. Brushing his teeth in the morning felt like pushing a boulder up a mountain. Eating wasn’t a thing anymore. They’d had to call in a tailor to take in his once-cherished Armani suit.

Now, a party. 

A dozen wealthy alpha werewolves waited downstairs. As a high society omega, Timmy was coveted goods and turned twenty in a month. At twenty, he would be a fully-grown, adult wolf; he was legally obliged to find a mate by then, to be wedded (and bedded) on his birthday. It was his responsibility to pass on his genes and perpetuate the species. Ever since his parents had died, the entire city watched, and the men downstairs drooled over his estate.

His money was enough to attract a mate, even with all the nasty rumors circulating about him, but Timmy well knew affluent alphas liked their omegas pretty and sociable, prepared to be excellent caretakers to their pups and wondrous hosts of high society events.

And here was Timmy, staring blankly with his shiny dress shoes glued to the floor. No, worse, he was up to his ankles in the same black sludge that forced him to stay in bed every morning and beckoned him to just _die already._

“Master Chalamet.” His guardian knelt in front of him. Luca had been with the family the majority of Timmy’s life, and per Timmy’s father’s will, was charged with caring for the young omega until he found a mate. Now that his parents were dead, no one on earth understood Timmy better than Luca. “Look at me, please.”

Timmy lifted his head and stared into the warm, brown eyes he couldn’t remember not knowing.

“I can make them leave,” Luca whispered in a soft, Italian lilt.

“Then what? In a month, the government assigns me some unknown mate it deems appropriate?”

“You’re not …” Luca hesitated. “You’re not right. You’re still in pieces.”

Timmy rubbed his forehead as images of his parents’ torn corpses threatened to take over. It’d been happening more and more often lately—the waking nightmares. Since he barely slept, bad dreams now invaded his entire life.

“What if I keep getting worse?” Timmy asked the only person he now trusted. “Maybe an alpha could put me back together.”

Luca sighed and stood. “Shall I announce you?”

Dread was an aching emptiness in the middle of Timmy’s chest. “Y-yes. Give me a few minutes.”

Luca inclined his head and left. The door closed quietly behind him.

Hands on his knees, Timmy pushed to standing. He didn’t dare look in any mirrors as he knew what he would see: a pale, gaunt youth with dark circles under his eyes and boring brown hair the stylist had cut shorter than Timmy’s hair had ever been. Not that he cared. Most days he didn’t shower, let alone get dressed.

He ran trembling hands down the front of his suit and scratched the back of his neck when it tingled. It tingled again, so Timmy spun around, certain someone watched him in secret. But the room was empty.

When the door opened, he expected Luca—back so soon?—but was met with a wholly unfamiliar face, shock writ large in wide blue eyes. The stranger started moving forward but stopped.

And Timmy crumbled to the floor.

Armie

Armie Hammer was the loud-mouthed voice of the city newspaper’s opinion page, and he wanted a good, up close look at Timothee Chalamet. Armie wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t a high society werewolf, worthy of Timothee’s attention. Not a prospective suitor, he’d earned the affections of a member of the catering staff, who’d snuck him in the back door.

Armie despised the idiocy of the upper class. As an educated, modern werewolf, he’d never bought into the whole “courting” process. It was antiquated and cruel, especially under those circumstances, the boy’s parents barely two weeks dead.

Armie had read the news stories like everyone else.

_Murdered._

_Mauled._

_Torn to shreds._

And young Timothee had found the bodies. What must that have been like? Finding your parents in pieces on their own kitchen floor. Armie considered his own mother and father and knew he wouldn’t have survived. The wolf bond was too strong. He would have slit his own throat.

Then again, there were those who suspected Timothee had hired someone to kill his parents. That Timothee had a secret alpha lover his parents didn’t approve of, especially since it was illegal to bed an omega before the age of twenty. Perhaps Timothee’s secret alpha lover was in the ballroom with Armie right then. Maybe Timothee would choose him, and they would get away with murder, living rich and happy forever.

Armie was there to form his own opinion.

Although he’d never seen the boy, neither had anyone else recently. Timothee hadn’t been spotted since the funeral, and even then, he had apparently been swathed in so much black fabric as to appear drowning. The newspapers had made it very clear the young Master Chalamet had not cried. Even more scandalous, the boy had rapidly managed to arrange this—his “coming out,” in which Timothee would either end up with the alpha who helped him get away with murder … or perhaps discover a mate who made his blood sing.

That was what Armie had heard it felt like anyway, the sure shiver of a fated mate. He’d never felt it—didn’t even know if he believed in it, considering it rarely happened anymore—but his parents insisted. They were the only “fated mate” couple Armie personally knew. 

Armie appreciated the institution of marriage but wasn’t sure he wanted it for himself. Also, it felt cruel asking it of Timothee, innocent or not. It was cruel to ask it of anyone at the age of twenty.

With champagne in-hand, Armie waited for the show to unfold, but Timothee was late.

Ten minutes later, a very bored Armie decided to go exploring. The Chalamet estate was, of course, impressive. The family oozed wealth. Now, it all belonged to Timothee—and whichever alpha he chose.

Armie turned in circles, open-mouthed, in a massive parlor when he heard the _click-click_ of rapid footsteps in the hall. He caught but a glance of an older gentleman with a dark moustache and beard. As quickly as his form appeared in the doorway, it was gone. Up to something important then.

Perhaps Timothee had arrived at the party. Perhaps Armie should get back to study the young man and watch the embarrassing displays of alpha prowess like peacocks shaking their feathers.

Armie stuck his head into the hallway, but instead of joining the party, he went in the other direction. He couldn’t help it. Curiosity was a writer’s best and worst attribute.

Outside a closed door, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He rubbed his hand over the misbehaving follicles, but the feeling continued, as though something deep within him was struggling to get out.

Curiosity again.

Armie opened the door.

A skeleton of a boy gawked back at him.

Armie’s hand trembled. Sweat blossomed on his back. He took one lurching step forward and forced himself to stop. Christ, what was this all-encompassing need to _take?_ The wolf inside him desperately clawed up his throat, but Armie swallowed it down because this wasn’t happening. This could _not be happening._

The boy made a strange, high-pitched noise before dropping into a pile of bones and a beautiful suit on the polished hardwood floor.

Wolves protected their own, and Armie’s wolf would no longer be cowed. He rushed forward and slid to the ground. He collected the unconscious omega into his arms and held him close while brushing his fingers through the boy’s mousy brown hair.

This had to be … “Timothee.” Armie repeated the name. Whispered sweetly. A rush of emotion nearly knocked him over.

He would do anything for this boy.

He would protect him at any cost.

He would kill for him, die for him.

They were fated mates.

And all Armie could say was a quiet, “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit gets real and Timmy just wants to hide in Armie's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a fantasy universe, Armie has loving, supportive parents :)

Timmy

Timmy felt heavy and warm. Arms wrapped around him in the blackness. Was he dead? Perhaps his mother held him, his father. Perhaps they waited for him to open his eyes, welcome him to a world without violence or pain.

No, that couldn’t be. He winced. His blood felt afire in an odd mix of pleasure-pain. Blindly, he reached out and gripped fabric. He rubbed his face against the same fabric, and the arms holding him tightened.

Safe. He felt so safe. He hadn’t felt safe since his parents had been murdered. Secretly, Timmy had spent the past two weeks wondering when the unknown killer would come for him, too.

He felt a hand on his cheek, and someone said his name once, twice.

Timmy hummed and pulled his legs up, safe in this cocoon.

_Please, don’t make me wake up. Don’t make me leave this place._

The unfamiliar voice returned. “Timothee, will you wake up for me?”

He pressed his face further into fabric until he could feel hard muscle and the rapid beat of a heart. “I don’t like it out there.” Even Timmy wasn’t sure exactly what his words meant, but they felt true.

“I know,” said the voice. “But I have something important I need to ask you, so wake up.”

Even delivered with a delicate tone, those words made Timmy open his eyes as though ordered. He looked up to realize a man he’d never seen was cradling him. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Armie.” The man with the blue eyes tried to smile but failed. Something like fear covered his face. “Can I ask you a question?”

Timmy nodded. His hand reached up of its own accord and touched Armie’s mouth.

Armie kissed his fingertips—and then, drew his chin back, seemingly shocked by his own behavior. He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them and asking, “Do you feel this, too?”

“You make my blood burn,” Timmy replied.

“Shit.” He hugged Timmy to him, his chin on top of Timmy’s head.

Slowly, Timmy felt himself exiting the lovely fog of Armie’s presence. Slowly, his sensibilities returned. Slowly … he panicked.

He pushed his fingertips into Armie’s broad chest and shoved himself away, out of Armie’s embrace. Still on the floor, his shoes squeaked as he slid backwards until his back met a chair.

Armie looked ready to latch onto his ankle and drag him back but managed to control his wolf, while Timmy’s howled inside him. He pointed at Armie. “You.”

“Me.”

Timmy shook his head. “No, fated mates aren’t … they’re not real. It’s, it’s a myth. It’s—”

“My parents were fated mates.” He shrugged. “Maybe it runs in the blood.”

For weeks, Timmy had felt nothing but despair and dread. Now, he felt frightened and trapped and safe and wanting. He felt too much. For the first time since his parents’ deaths, his eyes burned with salt, a precursor to the storm.

In the midst of his first tormented sob, Armie crawled toward him, and Timmy flew into his arms. The violence of his tantrum would have thrown Timmy thrashing to the floor if not for Armie’s strong embrace. He cried and cried until he heard the door open behind them: Luca’s voice and a shouted, “What have you done?”

Timmy clung to Armie tighter, silently begging him to keep the world out a little longer. _Please, just a little longer._

And Armie seemed to understand. Because he didn’t let go.

Armie

Timothee’s butler or whoever stared down at the pile of them, red in the face. Armie could barely keep hold of the shattering boy in his arms, let alone explain the situation. Armie kept his arms firmly wrapped around Timothee and opened his mouth to say … well, he had no idea.

Then, through sniffs and hiccups, Timothee somehow found the wherewithal to announce “He’s my fated mate,” with his face still shoved against Armie’s shoulder.

The dark-haired, bearded gentleman who Armie had glimpsed earlier put a hand to his chest. He gawked as he took a shaky seat in the chair nearest the door. If the chair hadn’t been there, Armie suspected the elder wolf would have joined them on the floor. “ _Mio Dio_ ,” he said.

Even in Italian, Armie related to the pronouncement. He, too, wanted to question the deity that had done this. Not twenty minutes earlier, he’d been waiting to judge Timothee Chalamet’s innocence. He’d been scoffing at the idea of marriage, especially marriage to a despondent nineteen-year-old. Now, he sat with said nineteen-year-old curled in his lap, clutching to him as a dying man clutches to life.

And the mere thought of parting with him made Armie feel sick.

“But you’re not one of the suitors,” the old man said with the crisp clarity of an educated and well-trained servant.

Timothee had stopped shaking, at least, but it didn’t appear he’d be letting go anytime soon. Armie brushed some of the boy’s short hair away from his own mouth. “No. I’m a writer. I snuck in to criticize courting.” He paused. “Which seems ironic now.”

“A writer?” Timothee leaned back.

Armie didn’t even fight the urge to wipe the tears from his too-pale cheeks. The young omega was almost blue from fatigue. “Yes.”

Timothee leaned his cheek into Armie’s palm. Armie’s hand was practically as big as the boy’s entire head. “I don’t know what to do now,” he said.

Armie sighed. “Let’s get you off the floor first, okay?”

Timothee nodded.

Sickly as he was, Timothee was easy to lift. Armie merely stood straight up and took his omega with him. He set him down on a red chaise lounge and went down to one knee at his side. Timothee blinked up at him, and for the first time, Armie noticed his eyes were light green. Like freshly grown grass in the sun. “When did you last eat, little one?”

An _endearment?_ Armie had never used endearments before. Of course, he had also never felt willing to die for someone, except perhaps his parents. This felt more literal, not something just said but a vow.

A stranger’s touch had also never inspired such heat. Were Timothee’s fingerprints now burned into his skin?

Timothee blinked, and his eyes almost didn’t open. Evidence of sleeplessness hung purple beneath his eyes.

“He won’t eat,” said the servant, now standing directly behind Armie.

Armie had assumed as much. When he stood, Timothee’s hand shot out like a viper and latched onto his wrist. He whimpered, and Armie immediately returned to a knee at his side. “I’m not going anywhere.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m Armie. You are?”

He stood up straight with military precision. “Luca. I’ve been with the Chalamet family since Timmy was a child.”

Armie turned back to his omega. “Do you prefer to be called Timmy?”

He looked up at Armie through long eyelashes and nodded.

“Luca,” Armie continued, “could you please bring some food? I’ll make sure he eats.” He snorted. “Wait, are there a dozen rich werewolves in the house still waiting to meet Timmy?”

Straight-faced, Luca replied, “Yes. This should be amusing.”

With his wrist still in Timmy’s surprisingly strong grip, Armie asked, “Oh, and is there a phone nearby? This might sound strange, but I need to call my parents.”

Luca frowned. “Nothing is normal right now, sir.”

Armie couldn’t agree more.

Timmy

Still on the couch and now wrapped in a heavy blanket, Timmy allowed himself to be fed because it was what Armie wanted. If Armie wanted him to eat, Timmy would eat. In his current state of mind, Timmy would have done anything Armie wanted, which should have scared him but didn’t.

Armie sat in an antique wooden chair at the side of the couch with a plate balanced on his lap. He picked up another slice of orange, and Timmy dutifully opened his mouth when Armie extended it to him. It smelled good in Armie’s hand—citrusy, sharp—but turned to dust in Timmy’s mouth.

_Ashes to ashes; dust to dust._

The priest had repeated those somber words at Timmy’s parents’ funeral. He closed his eyes to will the memory away, but a bloody scene painted the backs of his eyelids. His parents’ mangled corpses. He took a sharp intake of breath through his nose, but before he could smother himself in the usual numbness, the couch dipped at his hip.

Warm hands on his face. “Timmy, come back.”

He opened his eyes. Armie lingered above him. The plate of food that had been in his lap was now facedown on the floor, surrounded by scattered slices of cheese and fruit. “I … I didn’t go anywhere.”

Armie’s breath trembled on his exhale. “You did. You went someplace bad.”

“You felt that?”

He nodded. “And I’d rather not feel it again.”

“I’m sorry, but I go there a lot.”

Armie’s thumbs rubbed over Timmy’s cheeks before he nodded again, this time not in agreement but in pained acceptance.

Behind them, the door opened so violently, the hinges gave an alarming squeal. Two large alphas bounded inside, followed by a panicked-looking Luca, still shouting at them to “Stop!”

“What the hell is going on here?” asked the one out front.

Timmy recognized these interlopers, and, although twice his age, they were both vying to be Timmy’s bonded mate. Luca must have given them the news about Armie, and by the look of their red faces and fisted hands, they were not pleased.

Armie took Timmy’s hand before standing to face them, a wall of protective muscle between these would-be suitors. “Your presence is no longer required, gentleman.”

The one out front pointed and glared. “This wolf is not suitable for Master Chalamet.” Mr. Jennings had slick black hair and was broader even than Armie. Timmy didn’t know his first name, as he had always insisted Timmy call him “Mr. Jennings.”

Luca stood silently behind them, although Timmy could tell, by the way he stood practically on his toes, that his guardian wished to intervene.

Armie gave Timmy’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Not suitable? Tell that to our blood.”

Jennings turned around and walked for the door. “I’m calling my doctor. He’ll prove you wrong.”

Timmy leaned up with the help of Armie’s hand. “Doctor?”

Armie sat at his side and put his arm around Timmy’s shoulders. The weight of his touch was an anchor that kept Timmy grounded. “There are blood tests that can prove compatibility between fated mates. They’re just rare because …” He shrugged. “Fated mates are so rare.”

The brown-haired interloper, so far silent, took a step closer to the couch.

Timmy felt the tension grow in Armie so put a hand on his chest to calm him. Samuel Evans meant no harm. He had been Timmy’s father’s business partner. Now, he ran the lucrative Chalamet Oil by himself while they sought a solution to the elder Chalamet’s tragic absence. Since Timmy was an omega, he was not expected to participate in the business’s day-to-day, but he would always receive half its profits.

In a green suit that complemented his eyes, Samuel lingered a few feet away. “Timmy, are you all right?”

A loaded question Timmy wasn’t sure how to answer. His only response was to turn and lean his cheek against the center of Armie’s chest—which was when Mr. Jennings came barreling back in like an angry bull. “My doctor is on the way. He will prove all of this is madness.”

With his cheek against Armie’s chest, Timmy felt the rumble of a low growl and tried to imbue a sense of calm within himself that would spread to his alpha.

Armie

Timmy insisted Armie remain in his line of sight while they awaited the doctor and Armie called his parents. A phone had to be brought into the room, and Luca had ushered the other werewolves into the hall. This gave Armie a modicum of privacy, especially since Timmy seemed half-awake and the rest of the large room was empty.

It was nearing dinnertime when his mother answered the phone.

“Mom? It’s Armie.”

“Hello, dear! Don’t tell me you have to cancel tomorrow night.”

He and his parents only lived a few blocks away from each other in the city and had a standing weekly dinner date at their place every Thursday.

“No. Well, actually.” He glanced over his shoulder at Timmy, whose slim body looked almost broken beneath a heavy blanket. The poor boy still wore his suit, although Armie had removed his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons to give him some room to breathe. “Is Dad there?”

“Of course. Honey!” she yelled away from the phone. “Is something the matter?” she asked Armie.

He sighed. “No.” He clenched his jaw. “It is something unexpected, though.”

“Oh, well—here’s your father.”

“Wait, I need to talk to both of you.”

“We’re listening,” came his father’s slightly accented voice. He’d been born in England and happily forced to move when he’d discovered his fated mate—Armie’s mother—on a college trip to America.

A hollow _thunk_ emerged from the phone, and Armie could just picture his parents with their heads pressed together, a receiver between them.

He took a deep breath. “I need you to come to the Chalamet Estate.”

“The Chalamet Estate?” his mother asked. “Isn’t that where those terrible murders happened?”

Armie hoped Timmy hadn’t heard that. Luckily, it appeared his omega had fallen asleep. “Yes. This isn’t about that. It’s … shit, I might as well just say it. I met my fated mate, and it’s Timothee Chalamet.”

The silence was louder than a scream.

Then, his mother again. A quiet: “Oh, dear.”

“I need you here,” he whispered. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I feel like I’m going crazy, but in a good way, and I don’t know how that’s possible.”

“We’ll be there, son,” his father said.

Armie ducked his head and closed his eyes. Despite being twenty-eight, he’d never needed his parents so badly.

Oh, God, Timmy. Poor Timmy. He had no loving parents to run to, no one to advise him or comfort him. No one but Armie and Luca, and Armie had never been good at comforting. Then again, he had never used a pet name before, already calling Timmy his “little one.” Armie felt himself changing even faster than the bewildering situation, which was why he needed the guidance of his alpha father to make him believe he wasn’t going mad. That the things he felt for Timmy were normal. They’d known each other, what, a half-hour? And yet, Armie felt empty without Timmy in his arms.

After hanging up, he returned to the couch and scooped Timmy up bridal-style before turning, sitting down, and adjusting Timmy into a comfortable position on his lap. Timmy hummed and pressed his face to the underside of Armie’s jaw.

How could anyone possibly think Timmy capable of planning a murder? The boy was so thin. Armie would have suspected illness, but Timmy’s blood smelled healthy if malnourished. Those hollow cheeks were visual evidence of his grief, and the pallor of his skin spoke to days spent locked inside his enormous house that would soon be Armie’s, as well.

Armie would make him healthy again. Armie would bring roundness and color back to those cheeks. One day, he might even see Timmy smile.

Timmy

Dr. Alastair had soft hands and had entered with silent steps. Timmy suspected age had softened the wolf within him as he carefully drew blood from Timmy’s arm. Armie’s thumb caressing the back of his neck soothed Timmy, despite all the suspicious and angry eyes that observed. Then again, he was used to suspicion and anger by then.

Alastair had already taken Armie’s blood, so now, the samples would be compared and their compatibility proven.

It was up for argument whether fated mates truly were “fated” or just a scientific anomaly—two werewolves with genes that perfectly aligned. Timmy had never given it much thought, but it felt like more than blood. It had a hint of the divine.

Alastair—with glasses, copious wrinkes, and greying temples—smiled at Timmy. “Are you on suppressants, Master Chalamet?”

Timmy nodded. He’d experienced his first heat rather late at the age of fifteen. He remembered very little of it, just a sense of longing. An ache that would not be filled. It wasn’t so far off from the bottomless well of grief that now dwelt permanently in his chest.

The suppressants kept the heats at bay. All unbonded omegas who could afford them took them. It was dangerous not to, the possibility of luring an unwanted alpha so strong.

As a high society omega, he was expected to stop taking suppressants immediately after marriage, but Timmy couldn’t think about that yet. His fragile mind would not allow him to imagine Armie touching him in a sexual manner, not when Timmy had so far sensed nothing but “comfort” and “protect” from his alpha. No, he would consider their wedding night another time.

In that moment, he watched Alastair nod and say, “This will take but a few minutes.” When he walked back to his bag, his grace made him seem younger. Although due to evolution their species did not fully transform anymore—and absolutely did not howl at the moon—Alastair probably made a beautiful wolf.

Armie continued rubbing the back of Timmy’s neck as Jennings paced and Samuel leaned motionless against the doorframe.

The silence felt nice. Timmy loved to read, and he used to spend his afternoons reading and helping the cook, Dot, in the kitchen. He’d enjoyed the raucous, but the cheerful clang of pots and pans didn’t sound right anymore, almost as though they’d curdled like milk. The click and clack of spoons, the bubble of boiling water: those noises were a clear delineation of before and after. It hurt to go back to a time when Timmy’s life had been happy.

Timmy startled when Alastair gasped.

“What?” Jennings demanded. “What is it?”

The doctor turned around, and although he couldn’t conceal the shocked eyes, he did attempt to school the rest of his features into normalcy. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Jennings stood. “Damn it, man, tell us this is all a mistake.”

Alastair shook his head. “You’re a 100% match. Historically, most fated mates are no more than eight-five, perhaps ninety.”

“No.” Jennings shook his head, his skin the color of a ripe strawberry. “Absolutely not. Do the test again.”

The room quickly devolved into a cacophony of useless, shouted conversations, even Armie included. The blessed silence broken, Timmy closed his eyes and covered his ears until a shout erupted from his lips. “Enough!”

His order silenced every alpha in the room.

“Get out.” He glared at each unwelcome alpha in turn.

Samuel took a slow step forward. “Timmy—”

“Please,” he begged, anger gone. “Please let us be.”

Jennings left mumbling and cussing, while Samuel gave a weak smile before joining the other spurned alpha in the hall. Luca, ever vigilante, closed the door behind them, shutting himself out, as well. The privacy was appreciated, especially when Alastair continued, “You both need to be medicated.”

Timmy curled against Armie’s side as his alpha asked, “What? Why?”

Even Timmy, emotionally and physically spent, recognized the doctor’s trepidation. “Distancing drugs will weaken your link, at least a little. Otherwise, you won’t be able to survive without each other, not even for a few hours. Now that you’ve found each other, your bond is too strong.” He paused before addressing Armie. “It could even become dangerous. You could hurt Timmy.”

Armie tensed. “I would never—”

“It wouldn’t be you,” Alastair continued. “It would be your wolf. It could literally devour him.”

“Christ, man, give us the drugs.”

Armie’s sudden pronouncement made the doctor smile. “I have some with me, but I’ll have to bring more. Actually, I’d like to check in on both of you occasionally, if that’s all right.”

Armie kissed Timmy’s forehead. “Yes. Anything to keep him safe.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy spend their first night together.... but not like THAT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: suicidal ideations.

Armie

Armie knew his parents had arrived the moment their car pulled into the Chalamet Estate driveway. It was the way it worked with a pack, especially one that was blood-related. He could usually read the broad strokes of their emotions, too. That evening, there was a sense of jubilation with a side of trepidation.

Mere moments after Armie sensed them, Timmy—who’d been leaned against him, staring at nothing—perked up.

Armie couldn’t subdue his smile. “Do you feel them?”

Timmy nodded, eyes on the door.

“They’ll be your blood soon,” Armie whispered. At the moment, Timmy reacted the way he did because Armie’s parents smelled like, well, Armie. Timmy’s reaction would intensify once Armie gifted him with a bite, once they were officially bonded, but that wouldn’t occur until the wedding night.

Wedding.

Armie still had trouble believing he was not only getting married but to his _fated mate._ The one werewolf on earth literally born for him.

The door opened slowly, and Luca stuck his head inside. “Mr. and Mrs. Hammer have arrived, Master Chalamet.”

Timmy sucked his lips into his mouth and gripped Armie’s hand. “Show them in, please.”

Luca opened the door wide, and Armie’s parents swept in like a strong summer breeze, all comfort and warmth. His mother, a striking omega with long, black hair and Armie’s blue eyes, looked right at Timmy and smiled. “Oh, sweetie,” she said quietly.

Whereas Armie might have expected some tension from his intended, Timmy gave off no emotion. Which was worrisome. For the first time that day, he was an empty vessel at Armie’s side.

Or was it the first time? Armie tried to think back over the chaos of the last few hours, tried to remember the variance of Timmy’s emotions—but had there been any? He’d felt pain when Timmy had broken down, but was that all? Was his omega only nothingness and pain?

Armie’s mother drew closer slowly, her gaze never breaking from Timmy’s. Armie noticed his father pointedly hung back to let the omegas get acquainted before another alpha entered the room.

She stopped three feet away. “Timothee, I’m Amanda.”

“Hello. You can just call me Timmy.”

“Of course. Oh, darling, you’re lovely,” she said.

“I used to be,” he replied, which made Armie want to hug him, hide him, feed him more oranges, and make him sleep.

“You still are,” Amanda said.

Ever since walking into that room, Armie had been so overwhelmed by their fated connection that he’d barely had time to scrutinize the boy he would soon marry. He was loath to admit he understood Timmy’s pronouncement. The young man was much too thin with a sunken face that outlined prominent cheekbones that were surely admired and glowing when not sallow. Lips that were probably lush and pink when not chapped. Light green eyes that might shine bright when not rimmed by purple flesh. And dull, lifeless brown hair, cut short, that could be lustrous with food and rest.

Armie wondered if the gravity of Timmy was new—the essence that felt more adult than a mere nineteen. Perhaps, this boy had been playful before his parents’ death. Perhaps this seriousness, the slump of his bony shoulders, had only developed over the past two weeks.

“Will you come here?” Armie’s mother opened her arms.

Timmy moved to stand, and Armie helped him with a hand on his lower back. His beautiful suit now rumpled, he accepted Amanda’s embrace hesitantly. They were the same height.

“I’m so glad we found you,” Amanda whispered. “We will never leave you. You’re our son now.”

Timmy pulled back as politely as he could and glanced at Armie. His eyes begged for assistance, so Armie stood and pulled Timmy against his chest. “Easy, Mom.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears filling her eyes, she flapped her hands in front of her face like bird wings. “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting to feel the …” She gestured to Timmy. “He really is, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Armie wrapped one arm around Timmy’s back and put his free hand in his hair. “Dad, you can come in.”

Carl Hammer was a massive man. Armie had inherited his height and breadth from his father, along with dirty blond hair and the ability to grow a full beard in a day. He stood behind his wife with one hand on her shoulder. “Hello, Timmy, I’m Carl.”

Timmy pulled away from Armie just enough to face Armie’s parents in profile. “I’m sorry to behave badly. It’s inappropriate under the circumstances.” His words sounded rehearsed, perfected after weeks of mourning and condolences. Then, the façade crumbled. “Fuck.” He faced Armie’s parents head-on. “I didn’t expect this. Today was supposed to be practically a business transaction. Instead, I found …” He shook his head. “Christ, I’m nineteen! I don’t know how to do this! I don’t know how to do anything, and I just wish my parents …” He gasped a mouthful of air, and the mask slipped back on. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s nothing.” For the first time, he stepped away from Armie of his own accord. It wasn’t the drugs; Alastair said the distancing drugs wouldn’t come into full effect until the following morning. This was something else. This was Timmy withdrawing to the bad place.

Armie caught his mother’s worried gaze over Timmy’s head.

There was something very wrong with his omega, and although Armie wanted to fix it, he wasn’t sure he knew how.

Timmy

The distancing drugs weren’t working. Timmy knew, logically, Dr. Alastair had said it would take some time, but Timmy needed them to start working now, ten minutes ago, an hour ago, because every time Armie even left his line of sight, a surge of terror overwhelmed. It wasn’t all due to their bond. He’d once lost view of his parents to go see a movie with a friend, and look how that had turned out.

Sitting in the library with a lit fire, that same sludge from earlier tugged at Timmy’s socked feet. Dragging him down, down.

_Just die already._

He had considered killing himself after his parents’ death. He’d even had a plan: an overdose of pain pills left over from his mother’s foot surgery. Like sinking into a warm bath. Then, he could stop pretending he was okay. Stop being the puppet, the dutiful son, the pathetic—

“Hey.” Armie knelt in front of him. “Stop going there, Timmy. Please.”

Bizarre to have someone feel his emotions. Comforting? Perhaps. At least Armie could pull him out of the sludge if need be. Armie: this strong, handsome stranger who Timmy would be linked to for life. Armie _and_ his family, who’d left not long before.

Timmy blinked at him. “You’ll stay with me tonight, right?”

“Of course. We should get you to bed.”

“What time is it?”

Armie smirked. “Does it matter?” He extended his hand and pulled Timmy to his feet.

“I have nightmares.” He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“Maybe I can keep them away,” Armie replied.

Timmy nodded. Hands clasped, they left the library and found Luca lingering in the hall. “I have prepared a bed for Mr. Hammer across the hall from your room, Master Chalamet.”

Timmy’s entire body turned to ice. His head twitched in a reflexive shake. “No, I—we can’t. It can’t …”

Luca was inches away in seconds, cupping Timmy’s cheeks in his white-gloved hands. “Breathe, Master Chalamet. Breathe.” Luca glared up at Armie; there was no other word for the way his eyes turned to swords. “You will _not_ take advantage.”

“Of course not.”

Luca’s right eye twitched as it did whenever he was prepped for a fight. He stood up straight and tugged on the front of his suit as if it wasn’t already—and always—perfect. “Well, then, goodnight, gentlemen. Breakfast will be ready at eight.”

“Thank you, Luca.” Timmy didn’t wait for his guardian to walk away before pulling Armie toward the stairs that led to his room.

They passed down golden-lit hallways decorated in expensive art, old and new. 

“He’s different with you,” Armie said.

“Hmm?”

“Luca. He’s like two different people. Sweet to you; terrifying to everyone else.”

“Oh. Yes, well, I think he sees me as a grandson. And he doesn’t like anyone else.”

“Not even your parents?”

Timmy lifted one shoulder. “They’re not here anymore.”

“That was insensitive of me. I’m sorry.”

Timmy stopped walking and faced his alpha. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “Don’t be like all the others.”

Armie nodded in understanding. Of course he did. No one else would ever understand Timmy as much, even if they knew nothing about each other except that Armie was a writer and that Timmy was heir to a grand fortune, in both his body and estate.

Timmy knew his room was a mess and didn’t care. It was the one place Luca generally avoided out of respect for the newly minted master of the house. It was the place where the puppet went to hide, where Timmy could be empty with no witnesses. He walked in and kicked off his shoes, avoiding the pile of clothes he’d removed the night before and left in a heap. There were similar piles around the room, landmines of grief, reminders of another day, another day, another day. Every day the same, same, same—

A hand on his shoulder startled him.

“Why don’t you get into bed?” Despite the inflection, it was less a question and more an order. More like, “Get into bed.”

Timmy nodded and shrugged out of his suit coat. Before it, too, joined the piles of fabric, fragments of discarded Timmy, Armie caught it and folded it carefully over the back of a chair. When Timmy started unbuttoning his shirt, Armie’s hand closed around his wrist.

“I’ll stand in the corner with my back turned. Let me know when you’re under the covers, okay?”

“Okay.”

Aware of Armie in the corner but not looking at him, Timmy removed the rest of his expensive attire and pulled on the soft, linen pajama pants balled up at the bottom of his bed. They waited all day to be filled every night, as did a worn, gray sweatshirt that used to belong to Timmy’s father. He climbed into his large, unmade bed, sunk into a pillowcase that smelled like the sweat of his nightmares, and pulled the blankets up to his chest.

“I’m in bed,” he said.

Armie glanced back at him and removed his own suit coat and tie, followed by his shoes. He kept the rest of his clothes on before reclining on the opposite side of Timmy’s bed, above the covers.

In silent agreement, they dropped the polite façade.

Armie slid under the covers, and Timmy rolled over into his arms. They sighed at the same time. A single bedside lamp cast subtle shadows on the ceiling.

“Do you want me to turn off the light?” Armie asked.

“Not yet.” He curled his fist in the front of Armie’s shirt.

“What do I do when you have a nightmare?” Not “if” but “when.” Timmy appreciated the acknowledgment but had no answer.

“I’m always alone when they happen, so I’m not sure. You might not even know I’m having one.”

Armie turned his head and spoke with his lips against Timmy’s forehead. “I think I’ll know, little one.”

“They’re not about my parents,” Timmy whispered. “Those dreams happen when I’m awake. During the day, I’ll be standing in the kitchen and see blood. At night, I dream of drowning. I’m sinking and can’t find my way to the surface, to the light. It’s always dark, and there’s something … looking for me. If it finds me, I’ll die. It’s not that I care about dying. It’s the sinking feeling I hate. Being sucked under and trying to fight. Dying would be easier.”

“What if we sleep holding hands? When the dream comes, I’ll be there with you, pulling you back to the surface.” He took hold of Timmy’s hand on his chest and tangled their fingers together.

“But what if I pull you under with me?”

“At least we’ll be there together.”

Armie

It was worse than Armie expected.

Nightmares were one of the rare traits shared universally. No one was capable of saying they had never had a nightmare; no one was safe. The feeling of Timmy’s dream was something else, though, something darker.

The boy’s pain passed through their clenched hands and into Armie’s subconscious. The pain actually woke Armie. And Armie screamed as though the dream were his own. He screamed and woke and expected to find Timmy thrashing at his side. Instead, his omega was still as a corpse with his eyes closed while an unimaginable agony raged within.

Armie tried to breathe air that felt like water. The room spun around him, and he latched onto the heavy headboard to keep from falling to the floor. He swallowed back the burning taste of bile in his throat and clamped onto Timmy’s shoulder. He squeezed—hard.

“Timmy.”

No response.

“Timmy, wake up now. Timmy!”

Armie shook the boy and shook with no concern for his physical well being. He would hurt Timmy if he had to, if only to free him from whatever mind machinations filled the room with pain like poisonous smoke.

Armie pinched the soft skin on the back of Timmy’s hand and twisted.

Timmy yelped when he woke and sat up. He rubbed his eyes before noticing Armie by his side. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Christ,” Armie muttered. “Are _you_ all right?”

Timmy’s forehead wrinkled. He looked to be having trouble coming up with an answer. “Why did you wake me?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” He itched his nose with the back of his hand. The movement was so very innocent and young. “I don’t much feel like sleeping anymore.”

Armie related. Although still pitch black outside, he’d never been more terrified to close his eyes.

Timmy leaned back against the headboard. “What kind of writer are you?”

Armie slid up and leaned at his side. “I write an opinion column.”

“What does that have to do with an omega coming out party?”

“You mean why was I here yesterday?”

Timmy nodded.

“It seems funny now. I was here to observe and judge.”

“Judge? Me?”

Armie tilted his head, not in acquiescence or disagreement.

“You wanted to see if I looked like a murderer.”

“I don’t think you’re a murderer. I more wanted to observe the tradition. For hundreds of years, omega werewolves have been like trophies. Rich alphas of all ages are desperate to have one of their own, turning omegas into possessions, not people. And all of this when you’re only nineteen. No one knows anything when they’re nineteen. No offense.” 

Timmy shrugged.

“You’re basically sold into slavery on your twentieth birthday.”

“And you were going to write about how awful that is.”

Armie folded his hands in his lap. “I want you to know I’ll never treat you like that, like property. It’s not how I was raised. Obviously. You met my parents.”

“They’re equals,” Timmy said. “How come they only had one pup? Or do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No, it’s just me. I assume I was such a terrible child, they didn’t want to tempt fate with another.”

“My parents say I didn’t talk much as a child.”

Armie didn’t correct Timmy’s use of present tense.

“I read books and helped Dot in the kitchen," he continued. "Then, when I presented as an omega, they had to pull me out of regular school, of course, and I went to an omega specific high school, where they basically only taught us how to be parents.” He leaned his head on Armie’s shoulder.

“Would it help to have a friend visit tomorrow?”

He paused. “I only have one now.” He shifted closer and curled his head under Armie’s chin, his skinny knees against Armie’s hip. He curled up like a, well, wolf nesting in its lair with kin.

Armie put his arm around Timmy’s shoulders, pulled him closer, and pressed his nose against the top of Timmy’s head.

“What do I smell like to you?” Timmy asked.

Armie thought about it—and chuckled. “I don’t know how to explain it. And I’m a professional writer, for Christ’s sake. I suppose you smell like … mine.”

Timmy hummed. “That sounds right.”

The small alarm clock buzzed on Timmy’s bedside stand. Armie reached over and turned it off before picking up the two white pills they had waiting and the glass of water. It would be their second dose of distancing drugs, one every eight hours, but Armie wasn’t feeling any less tethered to Timmy. Maybe the second dose would begin to ease his need to keep touching, comforting, protecting.

“Here.” He extended the pill to Timmy, and Timmy opened his mouth in response. Armie rested the tiny pill on Timmy’s tongue and helped him take a few sips of water. Armie then did the same.

“Is sleeping a skill, do you think?” Timmy asked.

He ran his palm up and down the back of Timmy’s sweatshirt. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“I was good at it as a child. It got worse after my first heat, but now, I’m just lousy. It’s like I’ve forgotten how.”

“You slept for a little while.”

He sighed. “That’s because you make me feel safe.”

Armie gave him a tight squeeze before relaxing his embrace. After a few minutes of silence, he thought Timmy might have gone back to sleep, but his quiet voice eventually broke the silence.

He said, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

His fist clenched in the front of Armie’s wrinkled dress shirt. “That you’re stuck with me.”

Armie clicked his tongue. “I could say the same to you.”

“Why? You’re not broken.”

“No, but I am afraid.”

Timmy sat up and stared into Armie’s face. “Of what?”

“This. Change. Losing you now that I’ve found you. I never really believed in any of this before.” He took soft hold of Timmy’s chin between his fingers. “You’re not supposed to be real.”

His brow furrowed. “Half of the time, I feel like I’m not. Like I’m an out of focus photograph.” He tilted his head. “Does that make sense?”

Armie swallowed down the lump in his throat, taken aback by the immense pain of a mere nineteen-year-old. “You’re just grieving. It will get better.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll make it better.”

Timmy melted back down across Armie’s chest. “What if you can’t?”

“I’m your alpha. It’s what I was made to do.”

Timmy plucked at a button on Armie’s shirt. “Seems like undue pressure.”

Armie smiled to belie the seriousness of his words. “You scare me, little one.”

“I’ve never scared anyone in my entire life. Why would I scare you?”

“You’re too damn smart.”

His voice came out muffled with his mouth half-pressed to Armie’s chest. “My father says the same thing. It’s nice to hear you agree.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys' wolves start getting acquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like the fantasy of Armie having supportive parents, I changed Timmy’s parents’ first names because it felt too creepy to use their actual names in this story. Since they’ve been, well, brutally murdered.
> 
> I figure I'll do updates every Monday and Thursday. Sound good? xoxo

Timmy

They’d talked most of the night, both of them easing in and out of consciousness like the ebb and flow of ocean waves. When morning broke through Timmy’s bedroom window, he was enveloped in Armie.

Armie the cocoon, the chrysalis surrounding Timmy’s caterpillar—but would the worm ever become a butterfly? Timmy knew he’d been considered attractive once, beautiful even, but the current corpse in the mirror every morning did not seem liable for a comeback.

Timmy wiggled until Armie woke. Now, they sat in the dining room eating breakfast. Well, Timmy sat reclined on Armie’s lap with his back to Armie’s front, his head leaned on Armie’s shoulder as his alpha slowly, methodically fed him bits of fruit and toast.

Timmy chewed a sour raspberry that made his mouth water and hummed when Armie nosed beneath his jaw and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. He closed his eyes and rested his hand on Armie’s where it clung to Timmy’s middle, keeping him balanced and close.

The drugs weren’t working. If anything, their connection was getting stronger, which was why Dr. Alastair had already been summoned. Something had to be done. It wasn’t that Timmy minded being around Armie all the time, but Alastair had mentioned Armie might hurt him. Timmy didn’t care; his alpha could kill him if he wanted. Timmy wouldn’t fight. He worried more for Armie, who would never forgive himself if something bad happened to his omega. His “little one.” Timmy liked when he called him that.

Armie fed him a bite of toast with butter and jam and sipped his coffee while Timmy chewed. “Getting full?” he asked.

Timmy nodded sleepily. He was always tired anymore.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Dot entered wearing the smile she painted on for Timmy. It wasn’t her “real smile;” Timmy hadn’t seen that in weeks. Like Luca, Dot was also a Chalamet family institution, so Timmy knew she missed his parents. She also spent her days in the kitchen, walking over the ghosts of their corpses. Timmy could go in there because he was numb. He wasn’t sure how Dot was surviving.

She rested her hands on the back of one of the ten chairs that encircled the lengthy dining table. “It’s good to see you eat.” She glanced at Timmy, but her thankful gaze rested fully on Armie. “I thought I’d make your favorite today. Butterscotch oatmeal cookies. Would you like to help?”

He hesitated and then nodded. Despite his current distaste for noise, it was tradition. They’d started when Timmy was twelve, and it had first ignited Timmy’s love for cooking.

“You’re welcome to join us, Mr. Hammer,” she said. “I suppose it’s time you start learning your way around the estate.”

“Oh, well, thank you. Dot, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” She ducked her head, and Timmy was again reminded of how she bore no resemblance to the chefs portrayed on film, portly and loud—and wearing a fluffy white hat. Instead, Dot was petite if a bit round in the middle with chubby cheeks and amber hair she wore in a short bob. She was a bit older than Armie, mid-forties, and soft-spoken as a mouse.

The sound of approaching feet interrupted their brief repartee, and Alastair entered, preceded by a harried-looking Luca. Timmy knew Luca better than anyone, so to see a single out-of-place hair on his forehead was enough to know his guardian was stressed.

Armie sat up straighter with Timmy still in his lap, and the doctor scrutinized. “The connection hasn’t weakened,” he said.

“No,” Armie agreed, wrapping both his arms around Timmy’s scrawny waist.

Alastair placed his medical bag on the table and pulled out a large black bottle that sang like a maraca when he gave it a single shake. “I’ve brought a stronger dosage. Both of you, take one now.”

“Always follow the doctor’s orders,” Armie said, and they both did as told.

“Would you like something to eat, doctor?” Timmy asked.

“Ah. Well.” Alastair glanced back at Luca.

Timmy started to stand, but Armie kept him planted. “Luca?”

He hesitated before: “There is a circus out front, Master Chalamet.”

“A …”

This time, Timmy stood because Armie stood, taking his hand and walking to the windows that faced the estate’s front courtyard. The heavy, red curtains were already half-open, but he opened them fully. Far below, a crowd of reporters with cameras, shouting, waved pencils in the air at the Chalamet Estate front door as if they could open it by will alone.

“Someone from yesterday afternoon’s party obviously announced your fated mate status,” Alastair said.

Armie squinted out the window. “I know some of the guys down there. This doesn’t seem the sort of thing they’d care about.”

Luca cleared his throat. “The media has been very interested in everything Timmy does for the past few weeks, especially with his bonded deadline approaching. He’s the wealthiest omega in the city. And a despicable murderer has yet to be caught.”

Timmy watched the reporters below, a flurry of ants waiting to clean the skin from his bones. Two weeks ago had been a similar scene. He could still hear them shouting before he entered the car that took him to his parent’s funeral.

_Timmy, is the killer coming for you next?_

_Timmy, do you have a secret lover?_

_Timmy, did you hire someone to kill your mother and father?_

_Timmy, why’d you do it?_

These monsters had made his parents’ deaths into front-page news and his life a living hell—his parents dissolved to words on a page and Timmy’s grief into a spectator sport.

Timmy stared blankly down at the human vultures. The black sludge circled his ankles and moved up to his knees.

_Timmy, were your parents abusive?_

_Timmy, do you regret what you’ve done?_

_Timmy, how about an exclusive?_

_Timmy! Timmy! Timmy!_

“Timmy!”

The sludge receded when he blinked up at Luca, who gripped his shoulders with enough force to possibly leave bruises.

“Why are you yelling?” Timmy asked.

Luca let out a huge breath of air. “Thank God.” His hands trembled, wrapped around Timmy’s arms. He glanced over his shoulder, so Timmy followed his gaze only to find Armie—his big, strong Armie—unconscious on the dining room floor with Alastair knelt above him.

Timmy shouted and tried to shield his alpha, but Luca wrapped his arms around Timmy and Alastair held up an imploring hand. “Wait, Timmy,” the doctor said. His glasses were crooked.

“Let me near him!” Timmy shouted.

“His vitals are strong,” Alastair said and slowly approached. “Timmy, what were you thinking about a few seconds ago?”

“Wh … I don’t …”

“Were you angry? Sad? Do you remember how you felt?”

His head was muddled with the loss of Armie’s touch, but he could remember one thing. “I call it the black sludge. I feel it pulling at me sometimes, but it’s not a feeling; it’s emotionless. It’s nothing.” He paused. “It’s a dead place.”

Having spent years in the medical profession, Alastair’s bedside manner was to be applauded, as he showed no emotional response, whereas Luca’s breath hitched and he pulled Timmy into a side hug.

“Please let me see Armie,” he begged.

“Is the sludge near you right now?” Alastair asked.

He shook his head. “No. Wait, are you saying this is my fault?”

The doctor’s poker face slipped for but a moment, but that moment was enough to broadcast his fear. “I don’t know yet.”

When Luca let go, Timmy dove to the floor at Armie’s side. He whispered his alpha’s name and tried pulling the unconscious man up and into his arms, but Timmy was too weak and frail. He managed to get Armie’s head in his lap, and he pet his hair while continuing the frightened chant of “Armie … Armie … Armie.”

Armie

Timmy’s voice saying his name woke him with a start, and Armie found himself on his back on the floor. Timmy cradled his head in his lap and said his name repeatedly while staring into space.

Other voices in the room, further away: Luca and Alastair.

“We can’t just separate them. Not until the pills start working.”

“Even then, they’re fated mates.”

“To think, I thought Armie would be a danger to _him.”_

“They’re talking about me like I’m not here,” Timmy whispered down at Armie.

Armie hadn’t realized Timmy was aware of his consciousness. “Talking about us.”

“I don’t think it counted when you weren’t awake.”

“Suppose you’re right.” Armie sat up slowly. Timmy’s fingers brushed through the floppy hair on the back of his head as he did. He turned to face his omega. “Jesus, what happened?”

Timmy played with the hem of his baggy pajama pants. “I did, I think.”

“You were the black hole of agony in my chest?”

Timmy’s eyes darted up once and away. He chewed the inside of his bottom lip.

“Timmy—”

Alastair’s voice interrupted. A loud, “Excellent! You’re awake.”

Before he, too, joined them on the floor, Armie stood slowly and pulled Timmy to his feet with hands under his armpits. They leaned against each other, but Timmy still wouldn’t look at him.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Armie said. “Now.”

“Good. What did you feel before you passed out?”

Armie knew Alastair was trying to do his job, and yet ... “Hey, doc, can I have a second alone with Timmy?”

Alastair’s eyes fell in disappointment before he recovered with a sigh and smile. “Of course.” Armie could understand the elder werewolf’s curiosity. Fated mates—especially a match like Timmy and Armie—were rare, and if Alastair could learn something new to help their species, perfect. Just not right then.

Armie guided Timmy to a beige divan against the wall nearest the windows. He lifted Timmy’s chin, but Timmy still avoided eye contact.

“Look at me, please.”

He blinked his eyes closed instead. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t know I was.”

“I’m not angry, but I need to see you, please.”

Timmy finally looked at him, and those faded green eyes were vacant of emotion.

Armie clasped their hands. “That pain I felt was you?”

“It was the black sludge. It comes over me sometimes, ever since … But it’s not pain really.”

“It’s worse than pain,” Armie said.

Timmy nodded. “I think so. I imagine it’s what death feels like.”

It was Armie’s turn to look away, if only to hide the tears filling his eyes. “You said ‘sometimes.’ How often do you feel like that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It comes and goes or I forget about it. But then, all of a sudden, it’s there again.”

Armie dragged him into a hug and clung to the boy in his arms. Timmy’s parents might have been found in pieces, but it felt like Timmy was the one torn apart.

Loud voices interrupted their quiet moment as more people came bounding into the immense dining room. The male werewolf out front looked familiar, but that didn’t stop Armie from standing in front of Timmy and baring his teeth.

Elle Manning, Armie’s boss, walked in, too, followed by a petit male omega with flaming red hair.

Luca stepped in front of them all with hands held up like a fence. “It would be in all of your best interests to keep your distance. Except you, Tanner. Please go to Timmy.”

The small omega nodded and rushed past Luca and Alastair. Armie, sensing their connection, stepped to one side and watched Timmy embrace the other young omega. “How did you get here?” Timmy asked.

“My mom brought me.” He glanced over his shoulder at Armie’s editor. “That lady got me inside. What’s going on out there?” He gestured to the window.

“Just the usual chaos that is my life.”

Armie snorted, pretty sure Timmy had just made a joke.

Timmy put his hand on Armie’s shoulder. “Armie, this is Tanner, my best friend. Tanner, this is Armie, my alpha.”

When Tanner smiled, his freckled nose wrinkled. “Armie the alpha? Got a ring to it.”

“Heh.” Armie smiled.

“Are you okay?” Tanner whispered to Timmy.

His eyes went to the ceiling as he shrugged.

“I need to speak to Armie!”

He turned at the sound of his name. His boss and long-time friend stood there with wide eyes and a mess of curly hair. Elle was a professional, but she was also always in a rush. Her coats were never buttoned right, and her makeup was usually smudged. It added to her charm, since her ambition preceded her anyway.

Armie looked down at Timmy. “Will you be okay for a second?”

Timmy nodded.

Armie kissed his forehead, and Timmy leaned up on his toes to nudge Armie’s cheek with his nose. Which made Armie never want to leave his side. Ever.

The man Armie sort of recognized and Elle spoke at the same time:

“Mr. Hammer.”

“Is this true?”

He looked back and forth between them.

The broad-shouldered alpha male in the worn camel trench coat and crooked fedora pulled out an ID as Elle pulled out a competing newspaper.

They continued speaking over one another:

“I’m Detective Kent.”

“How did they get the story first?”

Armie put his hands to his head. “I can’t talk to both of you at the same time. Elle, would you please—”

Luca arrived like a mist. “Coffee, madam?”

“Please.” She lifted one eyebrow at Armie before allowing herself to be led away by the servant he was quickly coming to love.

“Detective,” Armie said.

That was why he looked familiar. Detective Kent had been in the newspapers, too: the guy who’d been assigned to the Chalamet double homicide. The scruffy investigator staunchly believed Timmy was behind his parents’ murders. Based on other stories Armie had heard, the guy was an asshole. Armie thought him more so now that he knew Timmy.

Armie sighed. “How can I possibly help you right now?”

Kent put his ID back inside his battered coat. On his chin, he’d missed a couple places shaving, and his tie was crooked. He was even more ruffled than Elle. “I was hoping to talk to Timmy.” He sneered, showing all his teeth. “But I suppose I should ask you first.” He folded his hands in front of him.

Armie glanced over his shoulder. Timmy and Tanner were curled together on the divan, heads close, talking. “This isn’t a good time, detective.”

“When would be a good time? Mr. Hammer?” His name sounded like a threat.

Armie leaned forward and hiss-whispered. “With the way you’ve treated him? Never.”

Kent chuckled. “Already taken his side, huh? I know he looks sweet, but don’t turn your back on him. Tell Timmy this doesn’t change anything.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Good day.”

No sooner had Kent left the dining room and Elle was back on him, waving a paper in his face. Annoyed, Armie grabbed it from her, even as she kept waving one hand in the air, cup of coffee in the other.

“They scooped us, and it’s about one of my own people, Armie!”

The headline, sensational as always: “Uninvited guest sweeps high society omega off his feet.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” she hissed.

“Because I was busy with my actual life, not the fucking news.” He crumpled the paper in his hands and let it fall to the floor.

She deflated like a days-old balloon. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m frankly in a state of shock.” She leaned close enough for him to smell her coffee breath. “Timothee Chalamet? This is huge.”

“We’ve barely had time to think about it ourselves. He’s just a kid, and I’m … nobody.”

Elle covertly peered over his shoulder. “He looks terrible.”

“I’m working on that.”

“You’re going to have to do an interview, both of you. And you know everyone is going to want to cover the wedding.”

He rubbed his forehead. “God, the wedding.”

She sniffed him. “And you need a shower and fresh clothes. I can go by your place and bring things back since you certainly can’t leave right now. And you certainly can’t fit into …” She frowned. “I don’t remember him being so thin.”

“He’ll be okay.”

She clasped his shoulder. “I’ll use my key to your place. Make sure Luca knows to let me back in. Luckily, since that dickhead Kent is here, the media vultures outside should scatter.”

Armie smirked. “ _You’re_ a media vulture, Elle.”

“Not today.”

Timmy

Timmy curled up on the window seat in Armie’s new quarters and stared at the far off city lights. He would be a part of it soon, attending charity events and fundraisers wearing fancy suits and a smile while members of high society spat gossip behind his back. He could imagine few things worse, but at least Armie would be with him now.

The nice, peculiar lady from that morning had returned with a few suitcases stuffed with things from Armie’s apartment. Luca had henceforth prepared the guest room closest since it was inappropriate for Armie and Timmy to share a room before the wedding, especially now that the distancing drugs were working.

Timmy still needed to be close to Armie, but he no longer needed to constantly be beside Armie. For instance, at that moment, Armie was in the shower. If it had been the night before, Timmy would have been in there with him, appropriate or not.

The drugs offered not only distance but also a dose of clarity. For the first time since Armie had wandered into Timmy’s life, Timmy was beginning to realize the full ramifications of what would soon occur. He would soon turn twenty and become a husband, a mate, and eventually a parent. He would belong to Armie forever.

Forever was an impossible concept, so Timmy sought to understand the now instead. Sadly, the now wasn’t much clearer.

The bathroom door opened, and steam preceded Armie’s arrival. Wrapped in nothing but a white towel around his waist, he startled when he noticed his omega. “Timmy?”

Timmy hadn’t showered. He hadn’t cared. He still wore the pajamas from the night before, scented now like Dot’s butterscotch cookies. He had spent the afternoon assisting her in the kitchen while Armie observed, swearing he would do nothing but ruin dessert.

Looking at Armie now, Timmy wanted a shower. With Armie.

He pressed away from the window seat and approached.

Armie took a small step back. “Are you all right? Are the drugs still not working?”

“They’re working. I just feel better close to you.” And he was close, only a foot away from his alpha.

Droplets the towel had missed shone in Armie’s chest hair. Thick muscles Timmy had felt through Armie’s clothes were now on full display as was golden skin that portended time in the sun. Even if Timmy had been at full health, he would still feel tiny by comparison. And ghostly white.

He trailed his fingertips down the center of Armie’s flat stomach, and Armie flinched backwards. Timmy looked up to find a hint of gold around the edges of Armie’s blue eyes.

“I excite you, even sickly as I am?” Timmy asked.

Armie blinked, and the gold of his wolf’s arousal disappeared. He put his hand on Timmy’s cheek. “We can’t talk about things like that yet. Now that the drugs are working, you shouldn’t even be in my room, little one.” He kissed Timmy on the forehead as he passed, and Timmy admired his retreating back before it disappear behind a simple black and white dressing screen.

“No one’s ever touched me like you do.”

“I should hope not,” Armie said from behind the screen.

“Have you been with an omega before?”

Armie emerged from behind the screen in black sweat pants and a white t-shirt that did nothing to sate Timmy’s need to touch some more. “If I’d been with an omega in the past, I would be married to that omega.”

Armie sat on the edge of his king-sized bed, and without thought, Timmy did a flying leap onto his stomach down its center.

Armie chuckled above him. “You can’t sleep here. You’re much too tempting.”

Ignoring him, Timmy rolled to his side and leaned up on one elbow. “You’re not a virgin, though.”

Armie pushed damp blond hair off his forehead. When not combed back, it was long and tickled his nose. “No, I’m not a virgin.”

“Then, why aren’t you already mated? You’re beautiful.”

“No, you’re beautiful.” He sat on the bed and gave a piece of Timmy’s hair a playful tug.

“They cut it too short. It’s never been this short before. I didn’t care enough to tell them to stop.”

“It’ll grow,” Armie said.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Armie sighed. “I am not already mated because I was waiting for you.”

“Fated mates don’t always find each other. You might have waited your whole life.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Armie smiled.

“All the time,” Timmy replied. “I just don’t want to when I’m with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to stop touching when I’m with you, which is why you can’t sleep here.”

Timmy sat up, crossed-legged. “Hold me for five minutes?”

“Christ, I’m a push-over.” Armie ran his hand over his face before climbing up the bed, his back against the headboard. “Come here.”

When his alpha opened his arms, Timmy dove right in with his head on Armie’s firm chest and Armie’s arms around him. Armie took a loud breath with his nose in Timmy’s hair before his shoulders relaxed. Timmy cuddled in closer, small and safe in his arms. Could he replace the black sludge with this? Maybe.

Maybe.

Armie

In Armie’s dream, a puffy cloud carried him across a peaceful, blue sky. The air smelled sweet around him. Only when he rolled to his side, toward an unidentifiable source of warmth, did he realize he wasn’t alone on his cloud. He pulled the unfamiliar—familiar?—body closer and rolled on top, resting between the man’s spread thighs.

Armie nudged the man’s chin up with his nose and sucked the side of his throat. His dream stranger made the sweetest little sound, a surprised gasp, before Armie felt hands in his hair. Fingers that clenched and unclenched as Armie rubbed his open mouth lower, across the man’s collarbone.

His hand found fabric between them, but that wouldn’t do. Armie wanted skin, which he sought and found—a soft, concave tummy and prominent ribs that expanded and contracted against Armie’s seeking palm.

The stranger’s legs wrapped around Armie’s waist, and there was that sound again: the sweet gasp that had Armie rolling his hips down, grinding against the small form below him. And the dream stranger _was_ small, much smaller than Armie. He felt warm and breakable and … this wasn’t a stranger. Armie knew the man in his arms, didn’t he?

He lifted his face, pressed it against the side of the man’s neck, and breathed. Just breathed. The scent was safety and comfort and _mine._ The scent was Timmy, and with that realization, Armie groaned. He held onto prominent hips and ground his pelvis down until the sweet gasps from earlier were replaced with a whimper. Fingers dug into Armie’s shoulders, and he wanted. Oh, how he wanted.

The wolf wrestled in his stomach until Armie lost control and let it loose. In the dream, his teeth descended, ready to bite and claim.

He opened his eyes …

And wasn’t in a dream. Wasn’t floating on a peaceful cloud. He was in his appointed bedroom at the Chalamet Estate. Lamplight still dimly lit the expansive space, and Timmy was crushed beneath him with his skinny legs around Armie’s waist and shirt pushed up to the bottom of his ribcage, revealing pale skin that Armie’s hand now touched. His lips parted on breaths heavy and loud, and those eyes, usually green, shined back at Armie like golden coins. So much smaller, the omega was helpless beneath his alpha, and although his eyes revealed arousal, there was also unease there, uncertainty.

“Armie?” he asked quietly.

Armie shoved away from him. With his legs tangled in the sheets, he fell heavily to the floor and crawled backwards like a crab until his back hit the dressing screen. He covered his mouth when he realized the descended fangs were not a thing of dreams but reality. His eyes probably still glowed gold.

“Get out, Timmy,” he said.

His eyes had returned to normal. “But—”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if you stay. You have to go.”

“Armie—”

“Go!” he shouted, which startled Timmy and sent him scrambling from the other side of the bed. He ran from the room and slammed the door behind him.

With Timmy gone, Armie rolled onto his side and curled into a ball. He took long, deep breaths to sooth the beast that even then wanted to pursue. The wolf wanted to chase Timmy down the hall, strip the boy bare, and take him with fangs locked onto the side of his fragile neck. Christ, in his current excited state, Armie would hurt him, break him.

His breath quivered as he fought to regain control. His wolf had always been present but never this prevalent, never this in control. Armie had never had to battle himself before. This was the power of his fated mate. The power of their dangerously strong connection.

It was decided. They’d been irresponsible. No, as the alpha wolf, Armie had been irresponsible. Even with the help of the distancing drugs, he and Timmy needed to be cautious until their wedding night, and even then, Armie would have to be careful with the young omega he’d almost just defiled. Perhaps, by then, Timmy would have some of his dwindled strength back. Perhaps he would be healthy. And perhaps, when fully awake, Armie would be able to remind his wolf that Timmy was a mere pup, in need of gentleness and care.

He must have fallen asleep on the floor because he woke to a hundred-foot-tall Luca looming above him. Timmy’s dark-haired Italian guardian glared. “What did you do?”

Armie sat up slowly. Morning light illuminated the back of Luca’s hair and made the edges of his pressed suit glow. “We must have fallen asleep together. It’s my fault.” He stood and, even though taller than Luca, still felt intimidated. “Is Timmy all right?”

Luca pressed his lips together in a tight, white line before speaking. “He would be bringing you breakfast right now if I had not sequestered him to his quarters. All he wants this morning is to see _you_ , make sure _you’re_ all right, but as his present guardian, I’ve decided you both need some time alone, need some space.”

“I had planned on going to work today.”

“Good.” Luca nodded. “You will see each other upon your return.”

Armie moved to get dressed, but Luca stopped him with a fist clenched in the front of his t-shirt. Armie would have toppled backwards in surprise if Luca’s grip hadn’t been so strong.

The elder wolf rose onto his toes to speak, their noses inches apart. “If I ever find Timmy smelling of you the way he did this morning, if it ever happens again before your wedding night, I will make certain Dot burns your every meal for the next five years.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Luca let go of his t-shirt, adding a little shove that sent Armie back on his heels, and smiled in a way that could have frozen water. Timmy was lucky to have him.

In the shower, Armie was loath to wash the smell of an aroused Timmy from his skin, but it was for the best. Armie could not think of Timmy that way, not so soon. He was still just a boy. A boy who’d been to hell and back but a boy nonetheless.

And that feeling …

The feel of the wolf wanting to devour Timmy.

It was what Alastair had warned them of upon realizing them an exact match.

_“Your bond is too strong. It could even become dangerous. You could hurt Timmy.”_

Although Armie may have doubted Alastair at the time, he doubted no longer. By merely existing, Timmy made Armie’s wolf ravenous. They would have to be careful. At least the distancing drugs were in full effect. Armie felt no hesitation exiting the Chalamet Estate, free now of reporters thanks to the police patrol car out front.

And Detective Kent, who stood right outside the house, his car door open. He hadn’t even bothered shaving that morning and wore the same crooked fedora and camel trench coat, a line of dried dirt along the bottom from perhaps walking in the city rain.

“Mr. Hammer.” He tipped the edge of his hat like an old Hollywood cowboy. “Ride to work?”

It was not a request.

The first few blocks were silent until Kent spoke up. “Settling in?”

Armie chuckled. “I’m in a state of constant confusion. The only bit of clarity is Timmy.”

“He’s a bad seed.” Kent’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Don’t know why people can’t see that.”

“He had nothing to do with his parents—”

“It keeps me up at night, you know. Thinkin’ of them. It was so random, at first, we thought it would happen again. Some wolf gone feral, mad. Because who would butcher Joe and Nancy Chalamet in their own home and not steal a damn thing? Then, it didn’t happen again, and we had nothing. No evidence. No one who profited from their deaths. Except Timmy.”

“What about the business partner?” Armie asked. “Samuel.”

Kent shook his head and turned onto one of the busy streets downtown. They were soon immersed in early morning traffic. “Nothing to gain. With Joe Chalamet alive or dead, Samuel would still only own half of Chalamet Oil. Timmy owns the other half. And if something, God forbid, happened to Timmy—“ His words screamed sarcasm. “—his portion of the company would be divided among board members, who would run Chalamet Oil as a collective. Well, unless Timmy had an alpha. Then, everything would go to his alpha.”

Armie’s mouth fell open. “Jesus. That hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Your ignorance is precisely why you aren’t suspicious, Mr. Hammer. I looked into you. Good family. Good college. Good job. And you didn’t vie for Timmy’s attentions. You were born with them.”

Armie clenched his jaw to keep from snapping. “Why would I be suspicious?”

Kent side-eyed him. “You know why.”

“Oh, right, your _theory._ Timothee Chalamet has a secret alpha lover that killed his parents so the two of them could take over the estate—and Timmy’s half of Chalamet Oil—and live happily ever after.” His every word dripped with disdain. “Any sign of this secret alpha lover yet, detective?”

“No, because you showed up. I’m sure a fated mate wasn’t part of Timmy’s plan. He’s scrambling now.” Kent nodded to himself. “They both are, him and the killer. We know Timmy didn’t work alone because he has an alibi. He also puked at the scene, and my men took samples. No sign of his parents’ flesh in his stomach contents.”

Armie squeezed his eyes shut. “You took samples of his vomit?”

“What can I say? I’m thorough.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Just you wait. He’ll slip up. You’ll see.”

“Why do you really think he’s guilty?”

Kent scratched his stubbly chin. “You know he didn’t even cry at his parents’ funeral?”

“People grieve differently.”

“Timmy planning their murders is the only thing that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense if you know him.”

Kent smirked. “You don’t know him. Your wolf might recognize him, but the two of you are fucking strangers.” The car pulled to a sudden stop in front of Armie’s office. Armie turned to leave, but Kent grabbed his forearm. “You’re walking into a shit storm. A nobody marrying a high society omega? I don’t envy you.”

“If it means I get to be with Timmy, I’ll go through anything.”

The detective chuckled. “Yeah, some other bloodthirsty alpha thought the same thing two weeks ago.”

Armie tore his arm away and stepped out of the car. “You’re wrong about Timmy.”

Kent leaned half across the passenger seat to say, “You won’t know until it’s too late.”

Armie slammed the door, and the detective sped off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start learning each other, and Timmy shows Armie his favorite room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: suicidal ideations.

Timmy

Timmy rested sideways in a leather chair in the library, curled in a ball with his head on the armrest. Staring. Back to staring because Armie wasn’t there, and Timmy didn’t know what else to do. He’d showered, at least. Luca had insisted. In fact, Luca had barely been able to look at him that morning, not until Timmy had showered. He’d surely smelled Armie on his clothes.

If Timmy closed his eyes, he could still feel Armie. Timmy had thought it all a dream—a very nice dream—those warm hands on him, hot breath on his neck, weight pressing him into the sheets.

Timmy had awoken before Armie and had done nothing to stop the continued ministrations. He knew he should have; he had not only embarrassed his alpha but also put himself in harm’s way. Armie’s teeth had been out, his eyes blazing gold. His wolf had been fully present and in control, but Timmy’s wolf had answered—and he hadn’t been able to stop.

Timmy hadn’t even been afraid, his trust in Armie so implicit. If Armie wanted to hurt him, Timmy would allow it. Timmy would do anything Armie wanted, and instead of discomfort, the realization gave him peace. Timmy was tired of making decisions, tired of being alone. He would give his alpha full control.

The arrival of Luca’s trouser-clad knees interrupted Timmy’s staring. He looked up at his guardian with a plate in his hand. “Lunch,” Luca said.

“I don’t want to eat.”

“You eat when he’s here.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

Luca sighed. “Good to see your attitude has returned if not your appetite.”

Timmy grumbled and sat up, accepting the plate of food. Luca knew his favorite: smoked ham, sharp cheddar, and Dijon mustard on toasted whole wheat bread with a side of carrots that Timmy would try to ignore but Luca would make him eat anyway.

Timmy took a small bite the chewed slowly. His stomach could still be iffy at times. “I trust you chastised him thoroughly this morning.”

Luca sat in a chair to his left. “Perhaps. Not that it was all his fault.”

“I sleep better when he’s near.” He reconsidered. “I mean to say I actually sleep when he’s near.” Timmy took another bite, and although the food still tasted mostly of dust, he detected a bit of smoky flavor on his tongue.

“He will be near. Right down the hall.” Luca pointed his finger at Timmy. “Which does not mean you can wander into his room at night.”

“I won’t.”

Luca lowered his hand and tapped his fingers on the chair instead.

“What?” Timmy asked.

“I’d like to discuss yesterday morning.”

Now, the bite tasted like nothing but dust, especially when Timmy recalled the way Armie had looked unmoving on the dining room floor following one of Timmy's ... "episodes." Timmy swallowed and put the plate on a side table. “I didn’t know I was hurting him.”

“I’m aware.” Luca leaned forward, closer to Timmy. “Dr. Alastair thinks …”

Apparently he thought a lot of things if always-eloquent Luca was having trouble.

He continued, “You have to learn to control the black sludge.”

Timmy pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “I want to, Luca, I do, but it feels impossible. Especially since I _want_ it to swallow me sometimes.”

Luca’s quiet voice turned firm, forceful. “You told me weeks ago you would not hurt yourself.”

“I wouldn’t hurt myself. I would just … go away.”

“And what would that do to Armie? Think how you would feel if he was suddenly gone.”

He knew how he would feel: sick. Sick forever. His stomach gave a sudden lurch, a precursor Timmy knew well after weeks spent throwing up everything he ate, food always turning to his parents’ torn flesh on his plate.

Luca knelt in front of him and took Timmy’s face in his hands. “Mio Dio, stop thinking about that. I am sorry. But this is why we need to stop the black sludge, control it somehow, so he doesn’t lose you.”

Timmy leaned his forehead on Luca’s until Luca wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug that ended with them both on the floor.

“You’re coming back,” Luca whispered. “Do you feel it?”

Timmy nodded.

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

Timmy sunk into the familiar comfort of his guardian’s embrace. “I didn’t want to. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Luca pulled back with his hands on Timmy’s shoulders. “You need to stop worrying about other people. It’s time to start worrying about yourself.”

“I used to be good at that.” He’d always been a nervous child.

At least that got Luca to smile. “Yes, a little too good. Now, finish your lunch. Then, we’re getting some of Dot’s cookies from the kitchen and taking a walk in the garden. You’re positively ghostly.”

Armie

The door opened before Armie could even knock, and an impeccably dressed Luca stood back to allow him entry. Safely inside the Chalamet Estate, Armie slumped against the wall in the foyer and let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for hours. “Luca, can I just stay here forever please?”

Luca closed the door, locked it. “Even Master Chalamet will have to leave eventually.”

Armie nodded, mind still racing with the events of his day. The shameless stares and whispers of his colleagues. Elle asking him a million questions. A half dozen phone calls from city wedding planners. That one reporter on the sidewalk who’d been so far up Armie’s nose, he’d almost punched the guy.

Chaos. His day had been chaos.

And he hadn’t even thought about going back to his own apartment to rest. Even with the distancing drugs, he could still feel Timmy waiting, a lighthouse beckoning a sleepy sailor home.

Now, he was _home_ , with Luca removing his suit coat, followed by the sound of stockinged feet, moving at a quick pace in their direction.

Timmy appeared at the end of the hall, huffing for breath, but didn’t come any closer.

Armie didn’t move either. Of course, he wanted to, but he wasn’t sure how things stood after what had happened between them the night before.

He startled when Luca smacked him once on the back and gave him a subtle shove forward. “Dinner is almost ready.” He swiftly disappeared into the labyrinth of Timmy’s—and soon Armie’s—estate.

With his hands folded behind his back, Armie approached Timmy, who wore tight jeans that exacerbated his scrawny legs and a huge, black sweater.

“That’s my sweater,” Armie said.

“I missed your smell.”

Armie nodded … and lurched forward just as Timmy leapt into his embrace, his arms circling Armie’s neck. Armie lifted his omega off the ground and swung him slowly back and forth. “I missed your smell, too.” He took a large breath of Timmy.

If anyone asked, Armie wouldn’t have been able to describe the scent. Except, perhaps, in abstracts: comfort and warmth. The best thing he could come up with was the smell of a spring forest after a rain with a bonfire close by, but he doubted anyone else thought Timmy smelled that way. Only his fated mate.

“Whenever I have to go somewhere, I’ll leave you something that smells like me, okay?”

Timmy nodded with his face shoved against Armie’s shoulder.

Armie begrudgingly set him back on the ground and pulled back to look at him, to remember how beautiful Timmy was, even while sad and sickly. “Did you eat today?”

Timmy nodded again and tugged on the too-long sleeves of Armie’s sweater.

Armie ran his thumb down the side of Timmy’s nose and over his cheek. “You went outside.”

“Luca made me. How could you tell?”

“You didn’t have these freckles last night.”

Timmy wrinkled his nose and stole Armie’s willpower. He leaned down and kissed Timmy’s nose, which made him wrinkle it some more. In true wolf fashion, Armie wanted to “gobble him up,” but luckily, Luca arrived announcing dinner.

At the enormous dining table, Armie and Timmy sat as close as possible while being in separate seats. Armie sated his longing to have the boy on his lap by feeding him small bites of medium rare steak instead.

Timmy accepted the food willingly. Armie was beginning to suspect this was the way to keep Timmy eating.

“Elle would like to come over tomorrow and interview us both. She doesn’t trust anyone else to do it. Is that all right?”

Timmy nodded and opened his mouth for another piece of steak. Armie fed him, and when a bit of juice rolled down his chin, Armie sopped it up with his thumb and stuck his own thumb in his mouth, sucking it clean. As the gesture was accidentally intimate, Armie’s cheeks heated, and he tried to ignore Timmy’s stare.

It was as good a time as any.

“About last night...” Armie started.

Timmy chewed deliberately and swallowed. “Was it my fault?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“So it was.”

Armie took Timmy’s hand, brought it to his mouth, kissed it. “You know the science of this. In theory, at least. As fated mates, our wolves call to each other, and we have to remember they’ve only just met. They’re very happy to have found each other. They _want_.” He squeezed Timmy’s hand. “But we can’t give them what they want, not until they’ve calmed down a little. Like Alastair said, I could hurt you.”

“I know. I felt how strong you are.”

“We need to be careful around each other for now. That means no going into each other’s rooms. No sleeping in the same bed.” Something occurred to him that should have occurred to him much sooner. “How does the moon affect you?”

“It doesn’t,” Timmy said. “I’m on suppressants. You?”

“Oh, I’m ancient. I’ve learned to ignore it.”

Timmy played with Armie’s knuckles, wiggling the skin back and forth. “You’re not ancient.”

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that when you have to rub my sore back after a long day at the office.”

Timmy frowned. “You were gone so long today.”

“I know.” He returned to the food and fed Timmy a buttery head of broccoli. “Special circumstances due to the news of our relationship. I usually only do half days so I can work on my book.”

Timmy jumped like he’d been electrocuted, and maybe he had been hit by something strange, because he smiled. Armie leaned back in his seat to absorb the shocking sight. For such a so far subdued boy, Timmy’s smile was open-mouthed and brazen. His green eyes glittered like fireworks at a celebration, and his entire young face wrinkled with glee.

Armie was so overtaken by the unexpected display, he missed what Timmy said next and asked him to repeat it.

“You’re writing a book?” Timmy’s smile was already gone, but echoes of its appearance drifted around the large room like quiet giggles.

“Yes, I …” There was no stopping it. Armie cupped the back of Timmy’s head, brought him closer, and kissed him. Despite it being chaste and quick, Timmy looked dazed when Armie pulled back. He touched his lips as Armie sputtered an apology. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was so … just very inappropriate. Forgive me.”

“Why did you do it?” Timmy asked.

“Because your joy is breathtaking.”

“What is your book about?” he asked quickly. He seemed desperate to change the subject, so Armie indulged him.

He chuckled. “It’s silly really.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

Armie popped a morsel of meat into his own mouth before speaking. “Well, one would think since I’m an opinion columnist that I would write some intellectual treatise about political policy or cultural injustice.”

“But you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead. Armie had never talked about this with anyone before. People knew he was writing a book, of course, but they didn’t _know._ “It’s an adventure story. In the jungle. There’s a hero and natives who can do magic. A love interest, of course. See? Silly.”

Timmy’s small hand covered the back of his. “Don’t let anyone tell you it’s silly. I want to read it.”

“It’s not done. You can’t read it until it’s done.” He rested his hand on top of Timmy’s hand on top of his own. “Do you like reading?”

Timmy stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek and looked down at the table. Any trace of his earlier enthusiasm had disappeared.

“Did I say something wrong?” Armie asked.

“No.” He reached for a piece of broccoli and stared at it before putting it in his mouth. “I haven’t done much reading since …” He stared straight ahead.

Armie was beginning to notice his omega shut down sometimes, perhaps inching toward the black sludge he’d mentioned. Well, Armie wasn’t going to let that happen anymore. He pushed the chair back and stood. “Dot!”

She walked in from the kitchen a few seconds later, drying her hands on a towel. “Sir?”

“Could we please have a plate of your butterscotch cookies to go?”

She glanced fondly at the back of Timmy’s head. “Of course.”

Timmy turned around in his chair. “Where are we going?”

“We don’t know each other,” Armie said. “Because of our wolves, it feels like we do, but we don’t. I’m learning you, little one, and you’re learning me. But I also need to learn this house. I want you to show me some of your favorite places. Where you hide from the world. Places to look where I can always find you.”

“What if I don’t want to be found?” He smirked when he said it.

So the boy had a snarky side. Armie crept closer and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “If I can’t find you, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and—”

He stood up straight when the kitchen door swung open.

“Cookies!” Dot announced. She handed the napkin-covered plate to Armie. “There are always more where that came from.” She patted Timmy on the head before disappearing once more.

“Let the tour begin,” Armie said.

Timmy

Honestly, Timmy had but two favorite places in his family’s estate. Armie had already been in the kitchen, so the only place Timmy had to show him was the library. The big, double doors were always open, but the lights were off when they walked inside. Timmy flipped on a single switch—the special switch—and half a dozen Tiffany lamps sprung to life.

“Shit,” Armie muttered, taking in the enormous walls of books and an equally large wall of windows. “I guess you do like to read.”

Timmy stepped to the center of the room. “Tour?”

“Of the library?”

He shrugged. “I organized it.”

“Oh. Then, yeah.” Armie put the plate of cookies on the nearest table. There were several small tables scattered around the room beside chairs of varying sizes and comfort levels. Plenty of choices for the curious bookworm.

Timmy walked to his right and gestured to the section of books high up and to the left. “The biographies my father reads are high up there because I think they’re boring.”

Armie laughed. “Fair enough.”

“Mom’s mystery novels are over there.” He pointed across the room to the center section on the other wall. “Fantasy novels— _Lord of the Rings_ , a visit to Narnia …” He pointed to the right. “Over there. Then, a bunch of literary stuff I had to read for culture or whatever. But these are my favorite.” He turned to the nearest wall of books and walked slowly by, gesturing as he said each word. “French. Italian. German.”

Armie traced a single spine with his finger. “These books aren’t in English.”

“Not a one.”

“Wait, so you speak French, Italian, and German?”

Timmy nodded. “Mom insisted.”

Armie’s mouth fell open before he snapped it shut.

“What’s the matter?”

Armie smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just beginning to realize you’re a lot smarter than me.”

Timmy frowned. “No, that’s not true. I started learning all these languages when I was a kid. Anyone can do it if they start young enough and have a good teacher. One minute, Dad would be teaching me how to ride a bike. The next, Mom would be yelling about my dirty laundry in Italian. It was just part of growing up, not because I was smart or anything. It’s like saying I’m athletic because I have reflexes.”

Armie leaned his shoulder against the bookcase and closely resembled a model from a magazine. “I like the way you say things.”

“Mom says listening to me talk is like floating down a river blindfolded. It’s noisy, and you never know where you’re going to end up.”

Armie laughed again. Timmy liked making him laugh, the way his white teeth suddenly flashed in the light. The way his blue eyes shined. It was an accomplishment after months spent accomplishing close to nothing but grief. “Well, I like it.” He nodded to the rows and rows of books. “Will you read me something?”

“What?”

Armie’s eyes moved up the bookcase—up, up—to the ceiling. “Which language is prettiest?”

“Right now?”

The alpha’s eyebrow quirked. “Does the answer change?”

Timmy knew what he was about to say sounded crazy. He’d never told anyone before, but this was Armie. Armie was safe. Armie would understand. “Italian is prettiest in the morning, when it’s bright and the world is waking up. German is best in the afternoon, when there’s a lull. It has a way of filling a room.”

“And French?” He stepped close enough to touch.

Timmy stared at Armie’s chest as he spoke. “French is prettiest at night, when things are soft and quiet. The words feel like melted chocolate on your tongue.” He plucked at a button on Armie’s vest. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No. I think you’re a flower opening in the sun.”

“And you’re the sun, I suppose?”

“Ha.” He turned Timmy around by his shoulders. “Pick a French book, then, and read to me.”

“You know French?”

“No.”

“Then, you won’t understand it.”

He gave Timmy a little push. “But I’ll enjoy listening.”

Timmy wasn’t sure why, but he chose _Bonjour Tristesse_ by Francoise Sagan. He didn’t completely relate to the spoiled, nineteen-year-old Cecile. Yes, they were both young and from affluent families, but her conniving nature was outside Timmy’s limited experience. Then again, he’d never had a lover, never experienced a sexual awakening. He wondered if Cecile would make more sense after he’d given his body to Armie.

Timmy tucked the book under his arm and tugged Armie to his favorite chair—the wide, worn leather one near the window that overlooked the garden in daylight. He pushed Armie down into the seat; Armie let him with a little smile. Then, Timmy climbed sideways onto his lap and started reading.

For a while, Armie’s hand ran up and down his back. About fifty pages in, the movement stopped, and Timmy looked up to find Armie asleep, head leaned back on the leather. Timmy quietly closed the book and set it in his lap.

He stared at his alpha in a way he hadn’t been able to before. They were so different. Where Timmy’s skin was paper white, Armie’s was tinted gold. Timmy couldn’t grow a beard, but already, after a single day, he could clearly discern the outline of Armie’s, guided by the shadow of his whiskers. Shallow wrinkles at the edges of his eyes attested to their difference in age.

Armie breathed through parted lips, lips that had touched Timmy’s over dinner that night. It had been Timmy’s first kiss, the effects of it shocking. It hadn’t even been much of a kiss, just the press of soft skin to skin, but it had made Timmy’s body tingle, his insides burn.

Timmy reached up and touched Armie’s bottom lip—and squeaked when Armie’s teeth playfully bit the end of his finger. Timmy pulled back fast and wrapped himself in a hug. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” Armie's eyes opened. “I must have missed the sound of your voice. Time for bed?”

Timmy nodded, but before he could stand, Armie lifted him. Timmy rested his head against Armie’s shoulder as he was carried, the book still in his lap. He would read alone for a while, see if he could fall asleep without Armie next to him.

“The cookies!” Armie kissed the side of Timmy’s head. “We’re eating cookies. Then, we’re going to bed. Deal?”

Timmy agreed and clung to Armie, hoping he might be able to soak him up and bring his protective alpha into his dreams.

Armie

It crept in slowly like thunder in the distance. Armie opened his eyes and looked around his darkened bedroom. He rubbed his chest. It ached the way it might if he worked out too hard, but Armie hadn’t worked out in days. Then, his heart started beating, beating, beating too fast. He sat up and knew, even before Timmy screamed down the hall.

He knew.

But it didn’t matter. As soon as Armie got to his feet and moved for the door, Timmy started shrieking, and Armie’s knees buckled beneath him. He hit the floor hard and grabbed at his chest, clawed at it. Unable to breathe, Armie drowned on air. He managed to crawl to the door and open it before tumbling out into the hall. The lights were already on, and Armie heard the sound of running feet.

Luca appeared in his nightclothes. “Master Hammer?"

“W-wake him up,” he croaked. “Wake him …” Armie collapsed face-first onto the floor but kept trying to move, get closer to his omega. Despite the crushing pain in his ribs, he pulled himself forward by his hands. His body dragged like a corpse behind him.

Up ahead, Luca shouted Timmy’s name as Armie got closer and closer, a few inches at a time. Tears streamed down his face. Timmy needed his alpha, and Armie couldn’t reach him. The pain of his failure almost rivaled the pain of Timmy’s nightmare.

And then the pain stopped.

Armie sucked a heaving breath of air into his mouth and tried standing. Knees still shaky, he fell back to the floor. His vision was spotty, so he didn’t see Timmy rushing toward him but he felt his omega’s panic. Then, he felt Timmy’s arms around him.

The boy mumbled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m so sorry.” The words flowed together as he sobbed against Armie’s shoulder.

Armie held him close. “Little one.” He cupped the back of Timmy’s head and held him when the tears and slurred apologies continuing flowing forth.

Armie looked up to find Luca standing above them, his dark hair askew. Staring at Timmy, Luca's eyes were wet and red. His gaze moved to Armie, and Armie couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man was afraid.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy need to make a public appearance soon.  
> And the full moon is coming. Wonder what Armie's wolf will wanna do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love music (and because certain songs speak to me in regards to Timmy/Armie in this story), I started a Spotify playlist for "Fate of the Moon." 
> 
> Click [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2CqEwiKJeqSvHeAGjUKBG4?si=d70mUUSMQR6i4jcfGpKlgQ).
> 
> Let me know if you have any suggestions for songs to add!

Armie

Once he’d calmed following his nightmare, Timmy refused to go back to sleep, so Armie kept him company in the library, dozing on and off to the sound of pages being turned until the sun came up. They bathed separately and shared a mostly silent breakfast. Armie fed Timmy pieces of fruit and toast, bites of egg, while Timmy gazed straight ahead, occasionally bopping his head against Armie’s shoulder like a happy cat.

Elle arrived promptly at nine. Armie wore one of his business suits for the occasion, even though he had no intention of leaving the house that day. Timmy had on the tight jeans from the night before, but he’d abandoned Armie’s over-sized sweater for a cream-colored cashmere V-neck of his own. It was embarrassingly difficult to keep from touching him.

As per usual, Elle resembled a woman who dressed in the dark. And didn’t own an iron. Not one item of her ensemble matched any other, and one of her pant legs was accidentally tucked into her sock. As a news editor in a big city, Elle Manning had better things to do than focus on fashion.

Armie gave her a hug when she walked in.

She frowned. “You look like something the dog shit out.”

He offered a tight grin. “Thank you.”

Elle politely waited for Armie to move before approaching Timmy. Other werewolves were expected to keep their distance from bonded omegas. Well, soon-to-be-bonded omegas, in Timmy’s case.

They’d set up three chairs in the parlor. Timmy shook her hand before taking a seat. Armie and Elle followed suit.

“So,” she started. “This has all been a bit mad, hasn’t it?”

Armie chuckled, and Timmy squeezed his hand.

“This isn’t an in-depth interview. It’s very simple. I ask a few questions, write a short feature piece, and I’ll be out of your hair.” She paused. “Until the wedding. Then, I want an exclusive.”

“Fine,” Armie said. As if he would have trusted anyone else.

“Wonderful.” She took out a small tape recorder and put it on the table between them. “What do I call you, Timmy or Master Chalamet?”

“I’m nineteen,” he replied.

“Right.” She glanced down at her notes. “ _Timmy._ Do you think your parents would have liked Armie?”

Armie cringed. “Elle …”

“It’s okay,” Timmy said. “I don’t know if I can really answer that other than to say they would have liked the way he treats me. So I guess that means they would have liked him.”

Elle tilted her head. “Oh, I like you, kid. You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

“I’ve dealt with a lot of reporters recently.”

“We’re not working _you_ anymore; you’re working _us_ ,” she said with a smile.

“I’m not _working_ you,” Timmy replied. “I just know how to talk to you.”

She pointed her pen. “Better watch out, Armie. Kid’ll have you eating out of the palm of his hand if you’re not careful.” Without waiting for a response, she kept going. “Armie, you’re a twenty-eight-year-old alpha who never intended to get married. Do you feel trapped due to your shocking fated mate status?”

Armie clenched his jaw. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No, I just know you,” she continued. “You scoff at societal conventions. You literally snuck into Timmy’s coming out party so you could gawk at him because you thought it all so silly. Now, look at you. You’re the ultimate example of everything you’ve shunned your entire life. I’d just like to know how you feel about your current situation: happy or horrified?”

Armie glared and was about to respond when Timmy pulled his hand out of Armie’s grip. “Do you really feel that way? That this is silly. That we’re silly?”

Again, Armie started to respond, but Elle cut him off. “No, Timmy. He doesn’t. I just like reminding Armie that he’s not always right.”

Timmy snorted and quickly covered his mouth.

“I’m so glad you’re amused,” Armie joked, but he meant it. The smile from last night and now this momentary outburst gave Armie hope that Timmy could be happy again.

“Will the wedding be on your birthday?” Elle asked.

“I would think so. I guess.” Timmy glanced at Armie and lifted one of his shoulders.

“You two need to make a public appearance. Soon.”

Armie ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, are you our publicist now?”

“Yes, Armie. Someone needs to be.” Elle gestured at Timmy. “You know what he’s been through. Timmy, I know what you’ve been through, but it’s not over. Some people in high society still think you had something to do with the death of your parents.”

“He didn’t,” Armie growled.

Elle held her hand up. “I just want you aware of what you’ll be facing together when you go out there—and you have to go out there.” She turned to Timmy. “Ignoring what the gossips might think, you’re still a high society omega who has not only found his mate but a _fated_ mate. You’re the heir to Chalamet Oil. No matter how much poor Samuel Evans might try, _you_ are the face of the company now. No one has seen you in weeks, which has only made the rumors grow. Now, you have something good to celebrate. It’s time.”

Timmy’s head drooped, but no one spoke, not until Timmy ultimately broke the silence. “Okay.”

“Good. There’s a charity gala Friday for homeless werewolf teens or some shit. I’ll get you on the list.” She rummaged around in her purse and eventually pulled out a tiny metal box with painted flowers on top. “I’ll be there, too.” She set two white pills on the table. “Those are anxiety pills if you need them.”

Armie immediately pushed them back at her. “Fuck, Elle, don’t give us drugs.”

She rolled her eyes but did put the pills away. “Armie, you’ve never been to one of these things. They’re stuffy and rude and the food is bad but people lie and say it’s good.” She sighed. “Don’t let the vultures get close to him, Armie. They will be circling. You’re going to be very famous and infamous on Friday, Timmy.”

“I can handle them,” he said.

“I believe it, kid. Maybe you should be the one keeping an eye on Armie.”

Timmy

Tanner and Timmy kept a pack of cigarettes hidden beneath a statue at the back of the Chalamet Estate gardens. Timmy didn’t even think Luca knew about his occasional smoking habit, which was saying something since Luca seemed to know everything.

Tanner took a hit and exhaled toward the bright blue, early autumn sky. He was an ideal omega, the perfect mate for a high society alpha. He wasn’t as wealthy as Timmy, but Timmy had always thought his best friend much more beautiful with his ruby red hair and glowing skin, dusted with freckles that added to his mystical appearance. He was small like Timmy but more graceful. And not sickly, not broken.

Tanner’s parents were alive and loved him, and Tanner was a year younger than Timmy. Whereas Timmy had been rushed, Tanner had time to find a compatible mate. Not that it had mattered for Timmy in the end. He had Armie. Fate had decided for him.

“So have you fooled around yet?” Tanner extended the cigarette to Timmy.

“What?”

“You and your hunk of an alpha.” Tanner stood and leaned against a massive hedge. He put his hands in his tailored trousers. Whereas Tanner, in his preppy perfection, looked ready to win a debate championship, Timmy was still in pajamas and a sweatshirt. Tanner waggled his eyebrows. “Armie try anything untoward?”  
Timmy scoffed. “No.” He inhaled smoke and blew a cloud off to his right.

“You’re kidding. You’re fated mates. Biology suggests he should at leave have tried copping a feel.”

“Well, there was an incident.”

The way Tanner’s eyes widened made Timmy wish he could take the words back. “An incident! Do tell.” He snatched the cigarette back and sat next to Timmy on the stone bench.

“It was an accident. We fell asleep together. I don’t know if he was dreaming or …” He felt his cheeks heat and stared at the ground.

Tanner nudged him. “We don’t keep secrets.”

They didn’t. In fact, Tanner was the only friend who’d stuck around after Timmy’s parents’ deaths. Every other high society omega’s parents had kept their kids away from Timmy. Innocent until proven guilty was not an adage in the gossip world.

Timmy had only known Tanner for a couple years, but they’d connected immediately over books. Timmy had actually been out with Tanner at the movies the night his parents were murdered. Of course, Detective Kent thought that a convenient and contrived alibi.

Timmy shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe I was dreaming, too. I just remember waking up, and he was on top of me. Touching me. It felt really good.”

Tanner smiled and handed the cigarette back. “You like him, don’t you? It’s not just your wolf.”

“I do. He’s … kind. He’s writing a book.”

“Match made in heaven, you two.”

Timmy slouched and rested his elbows on his knees. “I can ask you anything, right?”

Tanner gestured for him to go on.

“Since my parents died, do I ever make you feel bad?”

“Yeah, by getting a horrible haircut.” He ruffled Timmy’s too-short locks. “What were you thinking?”

Timmy didn’t respond. He felt darkness creeping around the corners of his mind.

“Sorry,” Tanner said. “Dumb joke.” He ground the cigarette out beneath his shoe and mimicked Timmy’s posture so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. “What do you mean, make me feel bad?”

“When I’m really sad or having a nightmare, I actually hurt Armie. He looks like he’s dying. Have you ever felt something like that around me?”

Tanner took a deep breath and leaned back.

Dread pooled in Timmy’s stomach. “Oh, my God, you have.” He recoiled to the opposite edge of the bench, trying to get away from Tanner, stop causing pain, but Tanner latched onto Timmy’s wrist and kept him planted.

“Hey, we’re best friends, right?” Tanner asked. “Not only us but also our wolves. When we first met, you know they were jumping around inside us, wanting to play.”

It had felt like exactly that—the warm joy of a kindred spirit.

“Since you lost your mom and dad, you feel different. It’s nothing like what you’re talking about with Armie. You’re just … less.” He leaned his forehead against the side of Timmy’s. “I’m sorry you’re so sad.”

“I’m sorry you have to be around it.”

Tanner pulled back and shoved him in the shoulder. “Don’t say dumb shit like that. I’m not going anywhere, moron, even if you do dress like a homeless person.”

Timmy’s face moved in an unfamiliar shape, and Tanner gasped.

“Did you just smile?”

“Maybe.” Timmy looked up when tweeting birds flew over their heads.

“You look better, Timmy, and it’s only been a week. Think how you’ll be in a month with Armie around. Married and back to your gorgeous self.”

Timmy shook his head. “ _You’re_ gorgeous. I’m just rich.”

Tanner reached for the cigarettes and lit another. “You really are a moron,” he said. They smoked in silence, heads resting together.

Armie

Armie achieved a sense of normalcy that morning. Back at the newspaper office, he dealt with correspondence and worked on a few new columns. Elle’s article about Timmy and him was in that day’s paper—an impersonal three paragraphs that still managed to earn Armie additional curious looks and whispered conversations. He’d expected everyone to be over it by then, but he had to give them time. It was an odd circumstance, to be sure.

Odder still was the phone call he received from Samuel Evans, inviting Armie to an exclusive alpha club he would never have been allowed to set foot inside before Timmy.

The Ferangaro was an old boy’s club. Or, Armie supposed, _wolf’s_ club. In the middle of the city, its front doors rivaled even those of the impressive Chalamet Estate. The quintessential servant in a tuxedo and top hat answered. Armie had to smile; Luca would have been appalled to wear such a blatant costume. Armie announced his name and was led up a flight of red-carpeted stairs past several statues of naked young men. Some bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Timmy, but Armie supposed most omegas shared certain biological traits: their smallness, delicate features and hands. Still, Armie wouldn’t have been caught dead with one of those statues in his home—his and Timmy’s home.

Samuel waited in a large, communal space, where well-dressed men read newspapers and shared quiet conversations. He stood when Armie approached and extended his hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said. In coloring, Samuel was similar to Timmy—dark hair and green eyes—but that was where resemblance stopped. Like Armie, Samuel was a large man, an obvious alpha. He gestured to a seat across from his own.

The doorman lingered.

When he continued lingering, Samuel asked Armie if he wanted a drink.

“Oh, no, thanks.”

The man in the top hat bowed and silently backed away.

Samuel sipped something dark from a snifter. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to speak with you.”

“That would be true.”

“How’s Timmy?” It felt a heavy question.

Armie crossed one leg over the other. “Getting better.”

“You’re treating him well?”

Armie tried not to be offended, laughed it off. “He’s my fated mate. Of course I’m treating him well.”

“Apologies,” Samuel said, eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I worry about the boy. I’ve known him most of his life. He’s become something of a surrogate son to me.”

Armie smirked. “Yet, you were ready to court him. Marry him.”

Samuel rubbed his eyes. “Christ, I sound like a fool. Did you know Joe Chalamet was a magician with words? He could convince people of anything. I’ve always been the numbers guy, the one in the background. Chalamet Oil wouldn’t be half of what it is without Joe. And now, he’s gone.”

“Mr. Evans—”

“Samuel.”

“Samuel. Why did you ask me here?”

He took a sip of his drink and didn’t look at Armie as he spoke. “When you marry Timmy, half of Chalamet Oil will belong to you. As Timmy’s alpha, you gain complete control. I need to know what you plan to do about it.”

Since Detective Kent’s pronouncement, Armie had considered his options. He saw only one viable conclusion. “I’m not a businessman, Samuel,” he said. “I can’t replace Joe Chalamet.”

“No one can replace Joe, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have some role with the company.”

Armie chuckled. “I’m a writer. What the hell do I know about a multi-million dollar oil business?”

Samuel cracked a knuckle. “I wish Joe was here. He’d have talked you into being his Director of Marketing five minutes ago.”

“Do you know if Timmy has ever shown interest in working for the company?”

“He’s an omega,” Samuel replied.

“So?”

Samuel’s brow furrowed. “It’s not his place.”

“You would have him be nothing but a house husband, birthing little pups?”

Gaze narrowed, Samuel leaned forward. His bearing shifted, and for a moment, Armie saw some of the wolf in him—the wild creature in this docile, polite man. “You might be Timmy’s fated mate, but that does not mean you can denigrate me. I don’t make the rules of high society, but I keep them. A word of advice? Since your life is about to become very public, I would do the same.”

Armie’s rebuttal was interrupted by a loud and inebriated voice that was, unfortunately, familiar. “What the hell is the lucky pauper doing here?”

All turned to stare at Jennings, whose black hair was a mess and his face red from drink. A couple additional alphas stood behind him, one of whom already had a hand on Jennings’s shoulder in an effort to cease his forward progress.

Jennings pushed his hand away and stumbled closer to where Armie and Samuel sat. “Timothee. Chalamet,” he said with some difficulty. “Sweet little thing. Have you tasted him yet?”

Samuel stood and was quick to stand between Armie and Jennings. “Why don’t we get you some coffee?”

Jennings pointed over Samuel’s shoulder. “The boy was supposed to be mine. I could show him what a real alpha can do.”

“Not in your current state,” Armie muttered as he stood, too. Jennings could hurl as many insults as he wanted. Armie’s parents hadn’t raised him to engage in pointless pissing contests.

“Fated mates or not, you won’t enjoy him long. You’ll see.” Jennings nodded and almost fell over.

“All right, come on.” One of Jennings’s friends successfully led him away.

Samuel and Armie stood side-by-side, watching them go.

“He gets aggressive when he drinks,” Samuel said.

“That’s because he’s an asshole.”

Samuel laughed. Whatever their earlier tension, it had passed.

“If I don’t step up and work for Chalamet Oil, what will happen?” Armie asked.

“The board will try to pick up where Joe left off. At forty, it’s not as though he was already planning for a successor.”

“Let me think on it. Talk to Timmy.”

Samuel nodded. “Yes, all right. Tell him I say hello?”

They shook hands.

By the time Armie was back on the city sidewalk, he wanted a shower. Members of The Ferangaro might have been high society, but Armie felt coated in grime.

When he arrived at the Chalamet Estate, no one opened the door for him because Armie now had a key. He’d said goodbye to his tiny apartment and moved all his things into Timmy’s home. Their home. He still felt strange about that, like he’d inherited the grand property from a relative he’d never met.

Before Armie even had time to think about a quick shower, Timmy leapt into his arms. Armie laughed and took a surprised step back. He wrapped his arms around his omega and lifted Timmy’s feet off the floor. Timmy shoved his face against the side of Armie’s neck and breathed; Armie did the same to Timmy. It was now their customary greeting, no words required.

Except Armie smelled something different.

He set Timmy down. “Have you been smoking?”

Timmy’s eyes went comically wide, and he covered Armie’s mouth with his hand just as Luca walked in.

Dressed in an impeccable suit, he bowed. “Welcome home, Master Hammer. Dinner will be ready at six. Master Chalamet and Dot made ravioli from scratch.”

Armie’s stomach grumbled before he nodded with Timmy’s hand still over his mouth. Said a garbled “thank you.”

Unperturbed with the scene, Luca spun on his heel and left.

Timmy slowly moved his hand away. “You can smell it on me?”

Armie shrugged. “Sometimes, I swear I can smell you when I’m still a block away. I doubt Luca has noticed.”

Timmy wrung his hands when Armie leaned closer.

“Now, the important question: do you have any more?”

Timmy

Sitting on Timmy’s usual bench in the back of the garden, the setting sun painted the scene orange. Timmy and Armie were long shadows on the hedge in front of them as Armie leaned back and exhaled toward the sky.

He groaned happily. “I haven’t smoked in years,” he said.

Timmy plucked the cigarette from between his alpha’s fingers. “Well, I would hate to encourage a bad habit.” He took his own hit before Armie snatched it back, laughing.

“I’m starting to think you’re trouble.”

“I’m sure Luca would agree.” Timmy tugged the cuff of his sweatshirt. He had showered again—on Luca’s orders—but he’d stepped right back into another pair of pajamas afterwards.

“You don’t smoke very much, though,” Armie said. “I would have smelled it on you before.”

“Just with Tanner. He was over today.”

“The red-headed omega?”

Timmy twisted his fingers together until it hurt. “He’s my best friend. I’m sorry I’m not as pretty as him.”

Armie put his hand on Timmy’s chin and turned his face toward him. “I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of yourself when you really shouldn’t.”

In response, Timmy parted his lips … and tried not to react when Armie’s gaze glowed gold for a second. Armie got the hint and pressed the cigarette to Timmy’s mouth. Timmy inhaled, looked away, exhaled.

He thought he heard Armie whisper, “Trouble.” He moved closer and rested his thick arm over the back of the bench, just barely brushing the tops of Timmy’s slumped shoulders. “Samuel Evans invited me to The Ferangaro today.”

“Really? Why?”

“Have you been there before?” Armie asked.

He shrugged. “A couple times. It’s where Dad and Samuel went to talk businessy things.”

Armie chuckled. “Based on that response, I think I already have the answer to my next question.”

“Which is?”

“Do you want to work for Chalamet Oil?”

“I’m an omega. I’m not allowed.”

“I’m your alpha. What if I said you _were_ allowed?”

Timmy dug at the ground with the toes of his tennis shoes. “And you think _I’m_ trouble.”

Armie ruffled Timmy’s hair.

“Dad loves it,” Timmy said. “He’s in his element in the world of big business. So confident, so outgoing. Watching him talk is like watching a show.” He bit his bottom lip—hard. “I’m talking about him like he’s still here.”

“It’s okay.”

Timmy shook his head to shake away the creeping sludge before Armie felt it. “I guess you never met him?”

“No.” Armie’s hand moved to the back of Timmy’s neck and rubbed.

“I’m more like my mom, I think. She liked staying home, reading books, but then, she could flip a switch at parties and be this great hostess, all smiles.” He frowned. “It’s kind of creepy looking back, that switch.”

Just as Tanner had earlier that day, Armie crushed the finished cigarette beneath his heel. “I think it’s part of being in high society. You don’t have a switch?”

He thought of Friday’s gala. “I suppose we’ll find out soon.”

Armie turned his body so their knees touched. “If you could do anything with your life, what would you do?”

He poked Armie’s knee. “I never made any plans. I’m an omega. We’re just ornaments. After we present, we’re moved to different schools and given the most rudimentary education. Domestic things. Parenting things. Then pulled out of school as soon as we’re nineteen-and-a-half to start the courting process.”

_“Parenting things.”_ Armie scoffed. “As if you should be expected to raise children when you’re just a child yourself.”

“Omegas are born older.”

Armie leaned forward and kissed his head, lingering there. “Yes. You are.”

“I don’t know what I want to do. I love to read, but I’m not a good writer. I love to cook.” A smile tried to escape but failed—but tried. “Clichéd, isn’t it? An omega that loves to cook.”

“I’ll be the judge of that when I eat this homemade ravioli you made for tonight.”

“Will you kiss me again?”

The question must have come out as a shout because Armie startled and pulled his arm away from the back of the bench. He cleared his throat. “Eventually.”

“Now?”

Armie ran the back of his fingers over his mouth before looking at Timmy, and Timmy knew he’d won. He was beginning to recognize that look. It was nothing close to the full-on golden glow Timmy had witnessed in Armie’s bed, but it was a hint of hunger, a harbinger of want.

Armie leaned forward and kissed him gently. Unlike their first kiss over dinner, when Timmy had had zero time to process, he tried to digest every detail of Armie’s lips against his—their softness surrounded by the hint of scruff, an alpha in need of a shave. There was the tease of wetness and warmth, even as Armie began pulling away.

But Timmy was not finished. He pushed up onto one knee and swung a leg over Armie’s lap. He clutched to the back of Armie’s head and opened his mouth wider. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew he wanted more so he figured an open mouth would allow for _more._ Apparently, he was right because Armie moaned to accommodate Timmy.

Wetness and warmth increased, along with the touch of Armie’s tongue. Armie’s hands on him—one on Timmy’s upper back, the other on his lower—were echoes in the back of a cave as Timmy explored Armie’s mouth. Noses were a problem. Apparently they got in the way sometimes, but Timmy did his best to tilt his head the right way to kiss Armie deeper, deeper …

He didn’t even realize he’d been rolling his hips until Armie squeezed his upper thigh tightly and pulled Timmy’s mouth away with a hand in the back of his hair. “Stop,” Armie ordered. His tone was soft; his intention was not. “Christ, you’re aggressive for an omega.”

His hair still in Armie’s grip, Timmy asked, “Is that bad?”

“I don’t know.” His voice came out scratchy; he cleared it again. “Just different.”

Timmy expected to be let go, pushed away, but Armie just held on. Aware of it or not, his thumb drew circles on Timmy’s bony hip. “But you said you’ve never been with an omega before. How do you know?”

“Just what I’ve read, I guess.”

“I’m sorry I’m aggressive,” Timmy said.

“No, don’t—”

“I feel better when you’re touching me. Makes the sadness less.”

Armie must have finally noticed he still held Timmy prisoner, because he released his grip abruptly but did not move Timmy from his lap. “Let’s talk about the sadness. The black sludge.”

Timmy lowered his chin and stared into the shadow of their laps. The sun was almost all the way down. Night surrounded them.

“It’s nothing for you to feel bad about, little one, but I think you need to see a doctor.”

“Dr. Alastair?”

“Maybe,” Armie said. “Or maybe a different kind of doctor.”

Timmy hugged himself. “You mean a doctor for crazy people.”

“Hey.” Armie grabbed Timmy’s chin and forced him to look at him. It was the move he used whenever he required eye contact. A dominant gesture, it made Timmy want to purr and pay attention. “You’re not crazy. But we need help.”

“We?”

“We need to get rid of the black sludge.”

“You can’t just get rid of it.”

Armie pressed his lips together. “We need to find a way to control it. We also need to find a way to control …” He looked away, searching for words. “At any time of any day, I’m capable of feeling your pain.”

“And it hurts you.” Timmy clenched his teeth against his guilt.

“That’s not your fault. Our connection is strong, and the distancing drugs only do so much. We need to find a way to control how much we share with each other.”

Timmy poked his finger against Armie’s chest. “Your emotions have never bothered me. You just make me feel safe.”

He nodded. “And that’s good. That’s what your alpha should do, but the full moon is in a week—”

“You said you have control over that.”

“Over my body, I do, although I insist we be apart that night.” Armie half-grinned and glanced away. “But no matter how far apart we are, we’re fated mates, and I am concerned about what thoughts or feelings my wolf might communicate to yours.”

Timmy wrinkled his nose, confused. “Like … oh!” His cheeks burned.

Armie chuckled. “Now that I’ve found my omega, I expect the thoughts I have under a full moon will not be appropriate as we are unbonded and you are still nineteen. And I realize you’re sitting in my lap right now, but my wolf will surely imagine things much more graphic.”

Timmy blinked in the dark, now unable to read Armie’s expressions. “You think of me like that?”

Armie rubbed his forehead against the side of Timmy’s chin. “Constantly.”

Timmy wrapped his arms around Armie’s shoulders. “You _want_ me like that?”

“I want you any way I can have you.”

Timmy smiled, but only a few lingering fireflies could have seen it. Silence descended, even as Timmy’s brain buzzed.

Luca’s voice rang like a bell through the night. “Masters Chalamet and Hammer! Dinner is served, and the tailor will arrive promptly at seven.”

“Tailor?” Armie asked with his lips against the side of Timmy’s neck.

“For the gala on Friday. I need something that makes me look less like a skeleton, and you need something, too, unless you have a fancy tux hiding at home.”

“Ha. No.” He stood with Timmy still in his arms, lifting him right off the ground. “Come on then. I want to try this ravioli of yours.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go terribly wrong at the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: violence and a bit of gore.

Armie

Sitting in a long line of limousines, Armie worried he was going to get fat married to Timmy, who was indeed an excellent cook—and who had been eating a steady diet, thanks to Armie’s prodding. Even Luca seemed pleased.

Armie didn’t have to worry about added weight yet. His brand new bespoke tuxedo fit him like a second skin. He was terrified of spilling something on it. Really, he was just, well, terrified. He could see the flashbulbs up ahead, hear the screams of reporters and celebrity chasers. He was a writer, and although he hoped his books might someday inspire fans, he had never intended to deal with hysterics.

Timmy sat at his side. The boy was stunning in a white tuxedo coat with black velvet accents and black slacks. Whatever the tailor had done, it worked, because Timmy’s fragile frame appeared stronger, healthier. Even Timmy’s pallor was—

Armie scrutinized until Timmy noticed, which was an accomplishment considering the young omega had been silent since leaving their estate.

“Are you all right?” Timmy asked.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Armie replied.

“All omegas do at events like this, perpetuating the lie that we’re perfect.”

Armie wasn’t complaining. Mascara enhanced Timmy’s already dark eyelashes, and his lips, no longer dry from malnutrition, were tinted just a touch pinker than usual. Armie thought there was a swish of blush on Timmy’s cheekbones, too. The effect was subtle but, like the suit, went a long way in hiding the soul-stealing grief of recent days. Even Timmy’s hair was different. Armie was used to it being a mess, but that night, it was parted on the far right and shaped in a sleek wave over his head.

Timmy sighed and turned to him as the car crept ever closer to the red carpet. “I know you’re my alpha, so please don’t take offense, but unfortunately, I know this world. I’ve been coming to these stupid parties since I was fifteen. Follow my lead?”

Armie grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You kidding? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. My heart is in my throat.” He tugged his bowtie for added drama.

Timmy studied his face. “You look splendid.”

“You look like an angel.”

“Fallen one maybe,” Timmy muttered as the door behind him swung open.

The car erupted with light as photographers started snapping. Hands still entwined, Timmy exited the car and dragged a frozen Armie behind him.

The shouting escalated when people recognized Timmy. Timothee Chalamet, who hadn’t attended a public event since his parents’ funeral. Who was still a suspect in their deaths. Who would soon marry his fated mate.

For Armie, the next few minutes were a blur. He kept his arm around Timmy’s shoulders and Timmy kept his arm around Armie’s waist, turning them both this way and that.

“Just smile,” he whispered.

By the time they made it safely into the lobby, Armie was blind, his vision stolen by flash after flash. With Timmy’s hand firmly clasped in his, he allowed himself to be led step by step until finally his vision began to clear and he found himself in a gaudy ballroom filled with gaudy people.

They stopped moving, and Timmy turned to face him with his slight hands gripping Armie’s wrists. “Are you okay?”

Armie nodded slowly. “That was a lot.”

“I know. You get used to it.”

Armie doubted that, not if Timmy’s current deer-in-the-headlights stare was anything to go by. It was gauche for alphas and omegas to show affection out in public, Armie knew, but it didn’t stop him from leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss on Timmy’s cheek.

“Made it inside with meat still on your bones. Congrats,” Elle said when she approached in a fluffy emerald gown that would have been in fashion ten years ago. Armie loved her for it. “Timmy, you’re stunning. And look how nicely this one cleans up.”

Armie ran a hand self-consciously over his styled hair; gel kept its natural floppiness at bay.

“Here they come,” Timmy whispered, gaze focused straight ahead.

Armie and Elle both followed his stare, and Armie gulped when he recognized not only the mayor’s wife but the governor’s wife, too, along with a half dozen other women. Most of them shamelessly stared. The rest, dripping in jewels, headed right for them.

Timmy looked down at his polished shoes, took a deep breath, and then raised his head. A smile shone on his lips—a smile Armie had never seen before—and he realized Timmy need not have worried about “flipping a switch” like his mother. The boy was a natural.

Armie answered questions when addressed but mostly kept silent and let Timmy glitter like a diamond amidst the, by comparison, rocks who wanted his attention. As soon as there was a momentary lull, Armie grabbed Timmy’s hand and tugged.

“Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“The dance floor.”

“I hate dancing,” Timmy said.

Armie turned and walked backwards through spinning couples. “Not anymore.” He drew Timmy into his arms, and they began to move as a six-piece ensemble played jazz standards on a bandstand nearby. “Also, this might be the only way to get all these people to leave you alone.”

Timmy groaned and bopped his forehead once against Armie’s chest. “Do you think Elle would approve of us going home now?”

Armie’s friend and editor stood across the dance floor, tapping a finger on her glass of champagne while watching them.

“Doubtful,” Armie replied.

Elle wasn’t the only one watching. The odious Jennings glared, standing in a half circle of other alphas Armie recognized from The Ferangaro. Armie had spotted other familiar faces, too, like Samuel and a mishmash of local actors, musicians, and business moguls.

“Hell of a turn out,” Armie said.

“They like showing off,” Timmy replied.

Armie led him across the dance floor. For someone who hated dancing, Timmy was good at it. “Well, I like showing _you_ off.”

Timmy tilted his head back. “I feel the same about you.”

“Not such a bad party then.”

“I’d rather be home.”

“Are you pouting right now?”

Timmy sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and blushed.

So drawn to his omega, Armie barely registered the sound of raised voices and running feet. A smashed wine glass got his attention, and he looked up just in time to see a man dressed all in black—mask included—rushing right at him with a gun in-hand. With his back turned, Timmy surely saw nothing but Armie’s elongated fangs.

Armie’s first reflex was to shove Timmy behind him, shield him, but if Armie went down, Timmy would be left standing there, helpless. Armie did the next best thing and dove with Timmy in his arms behind the bandstand. He covered Timmy’s body with his own as shots rang out. Screams filled the ballroom, along with the sound of musical instruments tumbling to the ground.

Timmy’s hands felt like wolf claws where they clung to Armie’s upper back. Their species rarely fully changed anymore, but they altered under duress. Armie wondered if his suit coat would have holes in the shape of Timmy’s fingers when they got out of this.

If they got out of this.

Someone groaned above them, and a body fell from the bandstand. The trumpet player, a bullet in his belly, still held his instrument.

And then.

The shooting stopped. Running feet again stomped across the floor. More screams.

“Call the police!” someone shouted.

Armie leaned up on his elbows.

Timmy stared blankly up at him, mouth open, panting. God, had he been shot?

“Are you okay? Timmy!” Armie first shook him by the front of his suit coat before running his hands rapidly up and down Timmy’s body. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he whispered over the surrounding cacophony of chaos. “Is it over?”

Armie lifted his head. There was no sign of the shooter, although quite a few women had fainted into chairs. “Yeah,” he said.

The trumpet player groaned, which brought awareness back to Timmy’s eyes. He looked toward the injured man and scrambled out from under Armie, tearing off his white suit coat as he went. He knelt at the man’s side and pressed the fabric to the wound.

“Ambulance,” Timmy said.

“Ambulance!” Armie yelled. “We need an ambulance!” He slid on his knees to his omega’s side.

Timmy smiled softly down at the dying man and said, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” over and over until Armie fell back on his ass and had to wipe tears from his face with shaking fingers.

Timmy

At home, in his family’s parlor, Timmy sat behind a small desk and rested his chin on his folded hands. A glass of something ominous arrived right in front of his face. Elle stood above him. “Drink that,” she said.

He swallowed it in one go. Alcohol of some sort. It burnt his throat but at least somewhat erased the smell of gunpowder and blood from his nose. He still wore blood-soaked clothes. There hadn’t been time to change.

Detective Kent had arrived at the ballroom earlier with the police and manhandled Timmy and Armie out of there. The hateful man had shouted orders over his shoulder as they left, but it was obvious Timmy and Armie were the priorities. Especially Timmy. The detective had hated Timmy since day one.

In the shelter of the Chalamet Estate, Kent shouted into a phone while one of his minions looked on with a pen and pad of paper. Armie sat in a nearby armchair drinking some of whatever Elle had given Timmy. His suit coat was gone, but he still wore his tie—untied—and white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair, so organized earlier, fell half into his eyes.

Luca stood in the corner, ready to serve, and Elle squinted at nothing, deep in her head, trying to figure something out. Armie’s parents, who had already planned to visit the following day, were on their way to stay for the night. Timmy had only met them once, but he figured the abundance of his alpha’s family scent would sooth.

Not that Timmy needed soothing. He was numb. The black sludge lingered in the doorway, just waiting to come in.

Kent slammed the phone down. “No sign of the shooter. I can’t fucking believe this!”

Luca cleared his throat, probably offended by the language. Luca hated cussing.

“Who would want to kill Timmy?” Armie asked.

Before Kent could reply, Elle interrupted. “No one was trying to kill Timmy, you fool. They were trying to kill you.”

Kent crossed his arms, wearing the same threadbare trench, hat, and sour expression as usual. “Now, how do you know that?”

Elle rolled her eyes. “Don’t treat me like a suspect, Kent. I was there; I saw.”

“Saw what?”

She flailed her hand at Timmy. “When the shooter arrived on the dance floor, Timmy’s back was to him. The bastard could have easily shot Timmy, but he didn’t. He was waiting for you—“ She pointed at Armie. “—to shield him. As his alpha, it would be your reflex. Instead, you made the better decision and took cover, which is why you’re still alive!”

“She’s right,” Armie mumbled. “If he’d wanted Timmy dead, he could have made it happen. Someone does want _me_ dead.”

Timmy tapped his fingers loudly on the desktop until they all looked at him. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Someone doesn’t want me bonded to Armie. The only way to ensure that doesn’t happen is for Armie to be dead. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“And unfortunately, the suspect list could be very long,” Elle said.

Armie upturned his hands in question. “What? Seriously?”

“Yes,” she continued. “According to both my gossip columnist and society columnist, there are many rich alphas that are thoroughly upset over missing the chance at the Chalamet fortune. Especially rich alphas that are secretly going broke.”

Kent took off his hat and stalked toward Timmy. “Or a rich alpha that’s your secret lover. You set this up, didn’t you? Sure, it’ll hurt like hell to lose your fated mate, but you’ll recover and be with the alpha you really love. The alpha that would _kill for you.”_

Luca, surprisingly, shouted, “You will not speak to Master Chalamet that way in his own house, sir!”

Kent ignored him, but he couldn’t ignore Armie suddenly standing between him and Timmy. “Get out of my house and do your fucking job.”

The detective had to stand almost on his tiptoes to match Armie’s height and stick his nose in his face. “Oh, I am doing my job. You’re going to end up dead because of your omega. Mark my words.” With his hat back on his head and a swish of his trench coat, he left the room.

“Thank Christ,” Elle muttered. “That man is obsessed.”

Timmy watched Armie’s shoulders lift and fall on a heaving breath. “Elle, you said there are alphas upset about Timmy and me?”

She nodded. “I can get names.”

“I hate to say this, but can you get those names to Kent? After I look them over.”

“Yeah, Armie, but there’s something else.”

Armie turned profile to face her. “Jesus, what?”

Elle took a slow, cautious step forward. “Someone wants you dead. There’s only one way to protect you both. You have to get bonded. Tomorrow.”

“What?” Previously slumped, Armie stood ramrod straight.

Timmy heard the words, but he remembered the feel of that trumpet player’s blood on his hands. He watched the sludge in the doorway rock back and forth like storm wrought ocean waves. 

“She’s right,” Luca agreed.

“You’re both nuts! He’s not even twenty!”

“Christ, Armie!” Elle shouted. “Consummate the bond when he’s twenty, but have the damn ceremony and give him the bond bite tomorrow. It’s the only thing that will guarantee you staying alive. If a greedy alpha out there wants Timmy for himself, he won’t risk killing you if you’re bonded because that could kill Timmy, too. Especially since your wolves are one hundred percent compatible. This bloodthirsty asshole wouldn’t take that kind of chance, so an immediate bonding is the only way to secure your safety.”

Above Timmy, arguing continued. It sounded like Luca and Elle versus a half-hysterical Armie.

The black sludge was in the room now. It whispered as it crept along the floor: _Just die already._ Flashes of his parents’ corpses intermingled with the too-wide smiles of the gala until the rich women in gowns were soaked in blood. The scenes intermingled. They danced around pieces of his parents. One woman’s satin shoe kicked his mother’s disembodied hand and said, “Oops!”

The black sludge was at his feet, pulling down, down. In his mind, he reached out for Armie once, but it was a weak attempt. He gave in to the sinking. He wanted to sink. He wanted to be nothing, to just go away where it would be quiet and painless. His heart slowed in his chest as Timmy went deeper and deeper.

A hand reached into the darkness and dragged him up.

Back in the parlor, Timmy looked around. Luca and Elle stood in front of the desk, frozen, wide-eyed, and silent. Armie knelt on the floor in front of Timmy’s chair, hands on Timmy’s knees as he gasped for breath, red in the face.

“You saved me,” Timmy whispered.

“Well, you almost killed him,” Elle muttered.

Armie turned his head to glare at her, but his shirt collar was indeed soaked in sweat. The hands on Timmy’s knees trembled.

Timmy ran his fingers through Armie’s disheveled hair. “Tomorrow?”

Armie looked up at him, his expression a mixture of sadness and fear, but he nodded.

Armie

Armie couldn’t sleep, even if he did feel safe after their night of chaos. Possibly the only kind thing Detective Kent had ever done was station police officers outside every entrance to the Chalamet Estate. Armie suspected it wasn’t out of kindness. Armie suspected Kent wanted to catch Timmy at something, catch him up to no good.

Thanks to some alcohol and one of Elle’s anxiety pills—not a responsible mix, but needs must—Timmy snored softly in his room. Armie had just left him under the careful watch of his mother, Amanda. At any sign of a nightmare, she promised to wake him. And if Timmy woke before Armie returned, he would not wake alone.

Timmy seemed comfortable around Armie’s mother already. They’d hugged tightly when she and Carl Hammer had arrived that evening. It surely had much to do with their blood, but also, Amanda had always been gentle and affectionate. It was part of her personality as an omega, that inherent need to care for her pups. As she’d already made quite clear, Timmy was now one of her pups. She would never let him come to harm. Like Armie, she would die first, especially after they were bonded.

Tomorrow.

He and Timmy would be bonded tomorrow.

Perhaps that was what kept him awake. He’d expected to have some time to process the “forever” he was about to start spending with someone—at least a few weeks until Timmy’s twentieth. Instead, tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would gift Timmy with his alpha bite and join them, body and soul, ‘til death do them part. Although, in that case, they wouldn’t be parted for long. Bonded mates could survive the death of their other; fated mates were known to drop dead on the spot.

Armie wandered the halls of the Chalamet Estate, guided by occasional lamplight. The lights were left on for when Timmy couldn’t sleep, when he played the part of wanderer. Luca had explained as much.

Speaking of Luca, Armie almost ran into him when he turned yet another corner in the mazelike abode. Both men took a stumbling step backwards.

“Apologies,” Luca said in pajamas and a beautiful blue robe. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

Armie was still in his tuxedo pants, although he’d removed everything else but his white undershirt. Even his feet were bare. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“Neither could I,” Luca replied.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luca tilted his head down in acquiescence.

“Why are there no family pictures? I’ve been walking the house for hours, but there’s no evidence of the Chalamets. I thought there might at least be a,” he half-shrugged, “fancy painting of Joe Chalamet over a mantle or something.”

Luca folded his hands behind his back. “I took them down. For Timmy.”

“Tell me Detective Kent doesn’t know that. Makes Timmy look guilty as hell.”

“Firstly, I don’t care what that boar of a man thinks. Secondly, it was not to assuage Timmy’s hidden guilt but to save him pain. Every time he saw his parents’ faces, he would …” He pursed his lips. “The black sludge.”

“Where did you put them all?”

“In Timmy’s father’s den. Timmy has so far been unable to enter that room.”

“Show me.”

Luca’s mouth twitched. “I’m not sure Master Chalamet would appreciate that.”

“Please.” Armie didn’t move, fearful that a certain posture or facial expression might alter Luca’s response.

Timmy’s guardian did indeed study Armie’s face with those dark, discerning eyes. He squinted and said, “All right.”

Armie followed Luca to a part of the house he’d yet to explore, possibly because there were no lamps on there. This was not a place where Timmy went to entertain his insomnia then.

“Mr. and Mrs. Chalamet’s quarters,” Luca explained as if Armie had asked a question.

There were several closed doors lining the long, dark hallway. Luca stopped at one and hesitated with his hand on the knob.

“Why do you seem scared, Luca?”

He looked down at the floor. “Perhaps I hid the pictures for myself, as well.” He then turned the knob and stepped inside.

Joe Chalamet’s den was not ostentatious, not dripping with expensive items or—as Armie imagined—a massive humidor filled with only the best cigars. It was surprisingly cozy. And messy. And dusty. Clearly, Luca was not caring for this section of the estate. Armie wondered if anyone ever would or if this quarter of the house would remain a ghostly shrine until the end of time.

Some of the clutter was due to the scattering of framed pictures and, as guessed, a large painting of Joe Chalamet. Armie recognized his image from the newspaper articles about his death: a macabre before and after in Armie’s mind.

He stepped past Luca and started moving pictures around on a threadbare couch. Armie could almost hear the disembodied voices of husband and wife, she telling him to get rid of the horrible old thing and him arguing, “But it’s my favorite!”

His hand froze on a photo of three people by the sea. A smiling Joe was in the middle with his wife on the right. Armie recognized Nancy Chalamet for the same macabre reason as her husband. But on Joe’s left was a boy Armie hardly recognized. A smiling boy with brown hair that blew in the wind and a wide-mouthed grin that indicated he might have been laughing when the picture was taken. The boy had meat on his bones and lean muscle, obvious through the t-shirt he wore. The boy was … the boy was …

Timmy.

But not Timmy.

Had this joyful Timmy died with his parents?

Armie covered his mouth just in time to stifle his sob, but nothing could stop the tears that burned his eyes.

“You see?” Luca asked from the doorway. “You can’t even look at them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the wedding and a bonding bite ....


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE BONDING BITE!!!!!
> 
> And the mystery continues ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the black sludge:
> 
> I wrote most of this during quarantine following an emergency flight home from Paris and the ruination of a lifelong bucket list dream. Granted, I've suffered from depression since I was thirteen, but for the months of March and April, I felt a new kind of despair. I felt the black sludge. I channeled my own pain into Timmy's pain as a way to heal myself. 
> 
> Yeah, the black sludge is always near me. Always lingering in doorways and shadowy corners. But I keep going, keep fighting. For those of you out there who relate, I hope you keep going, too.

Timmy

He wore the black suit from the day when he’d first met Armie since it was the only one that fit. His brand new, tailored white tuxedo coat was covered in blood. He’d heard that morning that the trumpet player had survived the shooting. Timmy’s quick thinking was partially to thank. First aid was part of his omega training. Not “what to do when someone gets shot,” specifically, but the basics for taking care of an alpha and pups. He’d known enough to do something, at least. One thing about Timmy’s state of numbness: he was apparently calm under pressure.

He wished he didn’t have to wear black for his wedding, but it was all he had. The tailor had plenty additional suits coming his way, cut to fit Timmy’s new body, but they wouldn’t arrive for a week—and they didn’t have that kind of time, not with someone literally gunning for Timmy’s fated mate.

It didn’t really matter what he looked like. The Saturday afternoon ceremony was secret, attended only by Timmy and Armie, Armie’s parents, Luca, Dot, and the chaplain. How disappointing for everyone else. Timmy was sure high society expected a huge, fancy affair, and all the city’s wedding planners would probably cry into their linen samples when they heard the news.

Thanks to Elle, their bonding would be announced in the newspaper the following morning, which would raise some eyebrows, even if it were understood, per law, that consummation would not occur until Timmy’s twentieth birthday.

The bonding bite, however … He closed his eyes. That would happen tonight.

“You okay?” Amanda Hammer asked with one hand on his shoulder.

“Nervous.”

“About?”

“Don’t want to say.”

“Okay.” She turned him away from the window to face her. “Do you want to be wearing a tie right now?”

He shook his head, and Amanda reached for the knot. As soon as it loosened, he felt a little bit better.

“Not like it matters anyway. I think we should all be wearing pajamas.”

He smiled shyly. Armie’s mother was a joy, a snarky ray of sunshine that poked fun at her husband and son—but never Timmy. She was kind and quiet with Timmy. She made him feel understood.

In that moment, it was perhaps rude of him to say, “I wish my parents were here,” but he said it anyway.

Amanda nodded. “I do, too. Thank you for letting _us_ be here.”

“Why would you expect otherwise?”

She smirked. “In-laws aren’t always appreciated. Carl’s mother hates me.”

“Why?”

Amanda adjusted the collar of his white shirt. “She says I don’t know my place, that I’m too bossy for an omega. I believe she thinks I should be more demur, subservient.”

“That’s what I’ve been taught.” In fact, the characteristics had been drilled into him since he presented at fifteen: _You are an omega. You are to serve your alpha. You are to bow to your alpha’s whims. You are to have a hundred of your alpha’s babies and never, ever complain._

“You think Armie wants you to act that way?”

He thought back to their heated moment in the garden when Armie had called him “aggressive” while looking ruffled and kiss drunk. His voice had been scratchy and bewildered but not disappointed. “No. Armie’s different.”

Amanda grinned. “Yes, he is, and so are you. There’s a fire in you somewhere. I think, as you grow, you’ll begin to let it out.”

Considering Timmy felt more like burnt ash inside, her comment came as a shock, but maybe she saw something in him that he’d never noticed in himself.

Armie

The ceremony had been a simple, efficient affair. A relief, really, considering if they’d married on Timmy’s twentieth, they would have been surrounded by hundreds of gawking rich people. Nice that it was so intimate and that Timmy looked well, seemed well. He even smiled and blushed when the chaplain closed and Armie kissed his cheek.

Now, Timmy was upstairs in his room, washing up and getting ready for bed.

Armie downed the last of a glass of champagne and watched from across the room as Dot and Luca cleaned up a half-empty tray of meat and cheese, napkins, and empty glasses. Armie’s father stood by his side, both men the same height with the same overall largess, dirty blond hair, and ambitious five o’clock shadows.

“What are you worried about?” Carl asked.

Armie rolled his eyes. “I hate when you do that.”

As his father and pack leader, Carl would sense unease from his son. He sensed other emotions, too, which had been mortifying during Armie’s teen years.

“I’m going to hurt him, aren’t I?” Armie asked.

“It doesn’t last long,” Carl replied in reference to the bonding bite that would soon pierce Timmy’s skin. “And then it’s …” He turned and smiled. “Then, it’s wonderful.”

“I don’t trust myself with him.”

“Understandable. Anyone can see you’re very attached to each other, and Timmy’s still weak.” He pat his son on the back. “But your wolf knows that.”

Armie put his glass down. It wobbled but didn’t fall. “Sometimes, I don’t think my wolf knows shit.”

“It knows Timmy. It knows to protect Timmy.”

“Yeah, well, what if it wants to …” He would not mention sex in front of his father. “You know.”

Even with just the implication, Carl understood. And chuckled. “Firstly, you’ve had excellent control over your wolf since you were a boy. Secondly, that’s not what the bond bite is about. You’ll see.” He gave him a shove. “You should go see now.”

Armie cussed and left the room.

He trudged down the hall, up the stairs, and into his bedroom—but froze in the doorway. Timmy was there, too, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“What are you doing in here?” Armie asked gently. He didn’t want to sound accusing, just surprised.

In his usual baggy pajamas, Timmy shrugged. “I like your room better. It smells like you.”

Armie grinned. “I feel the same about your room.”

“Oh.” He started scooting off the bed. “We can go to my room.”

“No.” Armie held his hand out. “No, this is fine. I just need to change.”

Timmy sat back down but still looked liable to flee.

Armie felt a similar impulse, not because he wanted to be away from his omega—God, no—but he feared the sound Timmy might make when Armie bit into him. He never wanted to be responsible for Timmy’s hurt; he hoped the boy’s cry of pain wouldn’t haunt his dreams.

Behind his dressing screen, Armie removed his suit and didn’t bother hanging it nicely. He left it on the floor before stepping into his pajamas, too. He ran a hand through his hair then messed it up again. Stalling. He took a calming breath and stepped back into Timmy’s line of sight. Timmy, who hadn’t moved an inch.

He approached the bed and sat on its edge. “You okay?”

Timmy nodded while repeatedly tugging at his pant leg.

“You sure?”

He nodded again. “It was a nice day.”

“It was.”

“You didn’t have to kiss me on the cheek.”

Armie smirked. “Yeah, where was I supposed to kiss you?”

Timmy chewed the inside of his bottom lip and tilted his head down to hide a smile. “I used to hide my expressions behind my hair. Can’t do that anymore.”

Armie flashed back to the photo he’d seen last night of Timmy with his parents and imagined that was true.

“I want this, you know,” Timmy said. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

Armie put his hand on Timmy’s on top of the lush comforter. “As your alpha, I feel like I should be telling you that.”

“You’re the one who looks scared.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Timmy squeezed his hand. “Physical pain is nothing. It’s the other stuff you need to worry about.”

Armie started asking where Timmy wanted the bite when Timmy pulled his shirt over his head and revealed pristine, pale skin. Armie dug his fingers into the blanket to keep from grabbing.

Timmy tossed the shirt on the ground and scooted up on the bed. “I want the mark to be obvious so people can always see it. Always know I belong to someone.” He laid down, rested his head on one of Armie’s several pillows, and gestured to the side of his neck. “Somewhere around here?” He stared straight up at the ceiling.

“Okay.” Armie climbed on the bed, too, but wasn’t sure where to go.

Well, he knew where he _wanted_ to go: nestled between Timmy’s spread thighs, their bodies pressed together. The wolf agreed; it hummed inside him.

Timmy must have agreed, too. He pulled on the front of Armie’s shirt until Armie indeed landed between his thighs and fumbled to not crush Timmy with his weight. It didn’t feel sexual; it felt comfortable, and Armie laughed at this revelation.

Leaned on one elbow by Timmy’s head, he poked him in the nose. “Trouble.”

His fingers traced Armie’s features. “Is that your new name for me?”

“No. I like calling you my little one.”

“I like it, too.”

His gaze swept from Timmy’s face down his torso. He allowed himself one touch, one caress of that silky skin. His palm traced across Timmy’s left pec, over his prominent ribs, and just barely teased Timmy’s side.

Timmy twitched.

“Are you ticklish?”

“Armie …”

He squeezed Timmy’s side, and Timmy bucked beneath him, shoving at his shoulders.

“You _are_ ticklish.”

Armie squeezed a little more while Timmy struggled until a wholly unfamiliar sound filled the room: Timmy’s laugh. It was low and breathy and made his whole body shake. Armie never wanted it to stop, even as Timmy smacked at him and begged, “Stop … stop,” between airy giggles.

When Armie finally relented, Timmy was out of breath. Reverberations of his glee still quietly escaped his parted lips. “Oh, my God, you are terrible,” he said, smiling.

“I’m going to make you laugh every day of your life.”

Timmy sobered but not in sadness. In seriousness. “Make me yours.”

Armie’s wolf howled. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, please.”

Staring down into Timmy’s wide eyes, Armie’s teeth extended, and before he could lose his nerve, he bit into the side of Timmy’s neck.

Timmy didn’t scream in pain. He didn’t make a single sound. He clutched to Armie’s shoulders and breathed rapidly, loudly through his nose. Armie’s world spun. He’d bitten people before in his high school brawling days. He’d felt the way skin broke and tore—but not like this. This was like biting into a decadent dessert.

Then, the images came. Flashes of memory. Seaside days in the sun. Hiding and reading beneath a table in the library. Rolling pasta dough with Dot. Then, one momentary glimpse into a blood-soaked kitchen that so shocked Armie, he bit harder into Timmy’s neck.

Now, Timmy made a noise but still not one of pain. Just a quiet whimper, the coo of a baby bird.

The bonding rolled through Armie. He could feel Timmy everywhere, from the top of his head to his toes. He _was_ Timmy. They were one body, one heart. Timmy’s memories mixed with his until they became his memories, too. Was Timmy feeling the same? Had he just roller-coastered through Armie’s childhood and beyond?

He heard Timmy’s voice in his head, clear as a clanging bell: _Alpha._

Armie pulled his teeth free of Timmy’s flesh. He stared down at the omega— _his omega_ —and knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Timmy

Autumn sun that looked warmer than it probably was streamed through the parted drapes of Armie’s bedroom. They’d slept in and now sat cuddled in pajamas, their backs against the headboard, with a tray of half-eaten breakfast in front of them. Armie tried balancing a raspberry on his nose again and failed—again. He caught it before it hit the white sheets and tossed it in his mouth.

Timmy huffed. “Your nose is wrong.”

“Wrong, huh?”

Timmy placed a raspberry on his own nose and balanced it perfectly. “See?”

Armie swooped forward and sucked the berry off Timmy’s nose.

“Hey!” He smacked at his alpha. “I thought you wanted me to eat more!”

Armie picked up a strawberry from their bowl of fruit. “Open up.” He placed the ripe berry on the center of Timmy’s tongue.

Sweet-sour juice exploded when Timmy bit down. He picked up a strawberry, too, and turned to face Armie, half leaned up on his knees. “Your turn.”

With sleep-ruffled shaggy hair, Armie smiled before parting his lips.

Timmy just barely fit the berry inside, and Armie made a point of sucking the ends of Timmy’s fingers when he pulled back. Timmy giggled. He giggled! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so shining, so light.

Armie must have sensed his joy—Timmy imagined it radiated off of him. He put his arm around Timmy’s shoulders and kissed the side of his head. He picked up a fork and took another bite of Luca’s buttery scrambled eggs.

Timmy’s fingers traced the bite mark on his neck. It was already healed; bonding marks healed almost instantly. He eyed the cot near the bedroom door. Armie’s mother had come in around midnight to play chaperone.

It had been a good idea.

After the bite, Timmy had wanted more. So much more. And he was fairly certain he would have been able to talk Armie into _more._ Armie was the alpha, but Timmy had knowledge—and knowledge was power. He knew Armie wanted him; Timmy wanted Armie right back. They both _wanted_ very much. Timmy could tell in the way Armie touched him whenever he was near, and Armie had to know by the way Timmy looked at him: hungry but not for food.

Now that they were bonded, Timmy was ready to consummate. More than ready. But Timmy wasn’t twenty, so law and tradition dictated the need to wait. They only had a week and a half. They could make it, as long as Armie fed him both food and affection. Gentle touches would have to suffice, although Timmy had liked it when Armie had bit down hard last night. He wasn’t sure what had caused the escalation, but the pain of being claimed while crushed beneath Armie’s weight had made Timmy’s head spin.

“Does it hurt?” Armie asked.

Timmy realized he was rubbing the bond mark. “Oh. No. Tingles.” He took a huge bite of toast. Not only was he feeling light that morning but hungry, too, and the toast didn’t taste like dust. Not like usual. The toast was different. Timmy was different.

“You’re sure?” Armie leaned Timmy forward and rubbed his shoulders.

Timmy liked that Armie could do that, just move him around with confidence and ease. His head lolled forward, and he closed his eyes. “I’m sure.”

Armie’s fingertips just barely touched the edge of Timmy’s bonding mark. “Last night, did you see my memories, too?”

“Is that what that was?”

“I think so.”

Timmy hummed with happiness, an emotion he never thought he’d feel again. “Then, yes. There was a little boat. Shining water.”

“My dad used to take me fishing.”

“A little dog with an annoying bark.”

Armie gave Timmy’s shoulders a little shake before rubbing his face in the back of his hair. “Tito, my aunt’s dog. She stayed with us for a while. I hated that thing.”

Timmy turned his head to the side but didn’t look at Armie. “What did you see? Of me?”

“The sea,” he whispered against Timmy’s ear.

“We used to spend the summers there at our beach house.”

“Take me there someday?”

Despite the nearby warmth of Armie’s body, Timmy felt cold. “Don’t know. So many memories. Luca took down all the pictures here, but … oh. Did you see _that_ night?”

“A glimpse.”

Timmy’s head drooped, the earlier brightness turning dim—until Armie pressed his mouth to their bonding mark and kissed across Timmy’s skin. He pulled Timmy into a hug from behind, Timmy’s back to Armie’s front, and rocked him back and forth until Timmy’s breath matched that of his alpha. They breathed slowly, deeply together, breakfast forgotten, until Armie’s bedroom door opened and Luca stepped inside.

“I thought you might need more coffee.” He raised a silver pitcher, white napkin folded over his arm.

Armie pressed a loud smooch to the side of Timmy’s head and leaned back with Timmy still in his arms. Timmy reclined over him, eyes slipping shut. Did he want more coffee, or did he want to go back to sleep wrapped in Armie’s embrace?

Luca refilled the two empty cups on the table by Armie’s bed. “It’s probably one of the last beautiful days of fall. You should go for a walk.”

“Hear that?” Armie squeezed his arm tighter around Timmy’s chest. “We should go for a walk.”

Timmy rolled over and shoved his face against the side of Armie’s neck. “Can’t we just stay in bed forever?”

Luca laughed behind him, a sound so foreign in recent months it might as well have been a lion’s roar. “Perhaps not forever, Master Chalamet, but I am happy to bring all your meals here today.”

Armie didn’t have to ask. “That would be perfect, Luca. Thank you.”

Armie

Armie’s skin itched from not having Timmy on his lap. Since their wedding and bonding, they hadn’t stopped touching. They’d spent all of Sunday in bed being served occasionally by Luca but mostly talking. Armie’s parents had bid their adieus halfway through the day, realizing they were no longer needed—or wanted. Not that he wanted his parents gone, but he wanted to be wrapped up in Timmy more.

Timmy was clingy in the best way. When not nuzzling his face against Armie’s chest, shoulder, neck, or hair, he climbed Armie like a jungle gym. Then, once Armie had let him play enough, Armie would wrap the boy in his arms and rain kisses down on his neck and face, even the soft palms of his hands.

Armie’s father had been right: the bonding bite had hurt Timmy a little, but since then, everything had been wonderful. Like Timmy, Armie had wanted to stay in bed forever, but with the arrival of Monday morning so, too, came Elle with a list of alphas who might want Armie dead.

Their wedding announcement had run in the paper the day before but so had the article about Friday’s shooting. The article had made it perfectly clear Armie Hammer had been the intended target, and there were no suspects. The article—written by Elle, of course—had also divulged their 100% mate status, which explained the rushed wedding and bonding. Now, whoever wanted Armie dead couldn’t hurt him without killing Timmy. Elle had quickly mentioned, almost as a footnote, that their marriage would not be consummated until Timmy turned twenty. Tongues wagged enough about their shocking fated mate status; no need to raise additional eyebrows, especially since Timmy was high society—and now, Armie was, too.

They were waiting for the news to spread. Armie would go back to work in two days, under police protection, but also with the confidence of knowing whoever wanted Armie dead wouldn’t risk killing Timmy, too. Still, the uncertainty grated, and the echo of gunfire haunted Armie.

The boys begrudgingly dressed before Elle’s arrival, at Luca’s insistence. No matter how cheerful he’d been the day before, it was back to business in the Chalamet Estate. They waited in the library—Timmy’s second favorite room in the house after the kitchen—although Armie was beginning to suspect Armie’s bedroom would soon surpass both if Timmy’s level of peace and joy in Armie’s bed was anything to go by. He’d never seen Timmy smile and laugh more than he had that Sunday. Now, with business incoming, Timmy had reverted back to the serious, dour boy Armie had first encountered. He resolved to fix that later.

Shoulders touching on the couch, Timmy read Armie a book in Italian. As Armie had been previously informed, Italian was best read in the brightness of morn, even if autumn clouds held the sun captive outside. Words danced like smoke in a breeze from Timmy’s mouth. Armie understood none of it but adored the sound, the way Timmy’s quiet voice turned to music in Italian.

They both looked up when Luca announced Elle, although he needn’t have. The sharp sound of female shoes was foreign in their house. Then, she appeared. She might have tied back her curly hair earlier, but most of it had escaped its bindings, falling in frizzy waves down her cheeks. She carried a thin leather portfolio under her arm and a small box in her hand. 

“Coffee?” Luca asked.

She removed her gloves one finger at a time. “Glorious.” She halted forward progress when she saw Armie and Timmy. Or more accurately, Timmy. Her eyes widened; she blinked several times. Her mouth opened and closed and, with furrowed brow, she smiled. “My goodness,” she said mostly to herself, although Armie heard.

“Elle!” Timmy closed the book and tossed it on Armie’s lap before standing. In Luca-enforced black slacks and a loose-fitting black striped sweater, he stepped to her and wrapped her in a hug.

The top of his head came up to the side of her chin. With her arms around the young omega, she eyed Armie, gaze aglow with bewilderment. She pulled back and held Timmy by the shoulders. “You look different.”

“Oh.” He rubbed the bonding bite with his hand.

“No, not that. You shine like the moon.”

Timmy grinned over his shoulder at Armie.

The omega did look different, even since the wedding. His skin, no longer sallow, glowed a dewy peach. His lips were a vibrant dark ruby without the assistance of makeup, and the perpetual circles under his eyes had dwindled to almost nothing. The chopped brown hair on his head was only just starting to grow out, but already, precursors of lustrous curl tickled the tops of his ears.

His father had suggested the day before that maybe some of Armie’s health and strength had flowed into Timmy during their bonding. They already shared emotions—which Dr. Alastair was coming to discuss that afternoon, hopefully before Timmy could have another black sludge attack. Armie hoped he could continue to bring light to this boy who’d been in the dark for too long.

Timmy rejoined him on the couch, hand going to Armie’s knee.

Elle pulled a chair up across from them and started to hand Armie the portfolio file. She reconsidered and handed him the small box instead. “I bought you both a present, but don’t go getting cocky about it. They’re only temporary really. I thought you might want something …” She waved her hand in the air, the physical manifestation of a punctuation mark.

Armie opened the box. Two identical silver rings decorated with tiny moonstones sat nestled in red velvet. “Elle,” Armie sighed.

“I said don’t get cocky.”

Timmy pulled the smaller ring from the box and slid it on the ring finger of his left hand—a perfect fit. He moved his hand back and forth, and light bounced off the multi-hued edges of each moonstone. Before Armie could move, Timmy removed his ring from the box, too, and slid it on Armie’s finger. Also a perfect fit.

“How did you know our ring sizes?”

“Luca,” Timmy replied. “He knows everything.”

Armie smirked. “He doesn’t know you smoke.”

“Shh!”

Elle snorted. “Anyway, they can be temporary. It was the best I could do with such short notice.”

Timmy grinned, and the unfamiliar expression made Elle fall back in her seat. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

She waved her hand in the air again. “Enough sweet stuff. Here’s the list of everyone who would like to kill you. I’ll give it to Kent after you’ve looked through it. Hate that man. Such an asshole.”

“Agreed. And thank you.” Armie flipped open the file, and Timmy leaned his head on Armie’s shoulder so he could see, too.

Half of the names were vaguely familiar—rich alphas who’d expected to end up in Timmy’s bed and bank account. One in particular stood out.

“Jennings,” Armie whispered.

“Todd Jennings?” Elle asked just as Luca appeared with a tray of mugs and a silver carafe of coffee.

“He threatened me. At the Farengaro.”

Elle’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. “What the hell were you doing at the Farengaro?”

“Samuel Evans invited me to talk business.”

“Of course.” She accepted a steaming cup. “The gifted numbers guy would be looking for a partner with charisma. He couldn’t sell water to a thirsty man.” She slurped. “What did Jennings say?”

“Something about me not enjoying Timmy for long. I believe there was a shouted ‘you’ll see’ tagged on the end.”

Armie gladly accepted coffee from Luca, but Timmy waved him away. “He always was aggressive,” Timmy whispered.

Armie’s head whipped left. “Did he ever touch you?”

“No.” Timmy tugged on the cuffs of his sweater. “But he made it very clear he wanted to.”

“Motherfu—”

Luca cleared his throat before exiting the room.

Coffee not even half-consumed, Elle slid to the edge of her seat as though ready to take flight. “We should call Kent.”

“No.”

The force of Timmy’s voice made them both freeze.

“I want to talk to Jennings.”

Armie put his coffee down. “What?”

Timmy stared straight ahead. “I want to see his face when I talk to him.”

“That might not be safe,” Elle said.

“The police could pat him down before he comes inside.” The Chalamet Estate was still surrounded by authorities for protection’s sake. “And Armie could take Jennings in a fight.”

Armie looked to Elle.

“I mean, he’s right on both counts,” she said.

He rubbed Timmy’s back. “Are you sure?”

“Most definitely,” he replied but made no eye contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fate of the Moon" Spotify song list!!!!!
> 
> Click [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2CqEwiKJeqSvHeAGjUKBG4?si=d70mUUSMQR6i4jcfGpKlgQ).
> 
> Let me know if you have any suggestions for songs to add!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon rapidly approaches, and Timmy is "trouble."

Timmy

The newly bonded couple shared a simple lunch with Dr. Alastair who, like Elle, had tumbled into a state of shock upon seeing Timmy. He’d taken a step back as though alarmed before recovering, smiling. Timmy thought he might have heard a whispered, “My God,” but couldn’t be sure.

Did he really look that different? He felt different. He felt more … Armie. More Armie, yes. If he thought he’d been aware of his alpha before, he’d been mistaken. He felt itchy whenever Armie left a room. His heart beat “Armie … Armie … Armie.” For these reasons, Alastair was there.

Both Timmy and Armie still took distancing drugs every day, and Timmy still took his suppressants. Despite this, their minds were too linked. They needed help, so Armie had called Alastair for a consult to decide if they needed to see, well, a “crazy person” doctor, even if Armie hated the expression.

After lunch, they adjourned to the library. 

“May I take a look at your bonding bite?” Alastair asked. He asked _both_ of them, Timmy noticed. The old wolf’s eyes darted back and forth.

Timmy pulled his hand away from it. He touched the mark often but usually didn’t notice until Armie dragged his fingers close to kiss them.

Timmy nodded, and Alastair pulled his chair in front of the couch. He cupped Timmy’s chin in his hand and turned his head to the right, revealing the bite mark Timmy treasured. “It has healed nicely. No complications, I assume?”

Armie chuckled at Timmy’s side. “Just me needing to touch him all the time.” Even as he spoke, his hand rested on Timmy’s lower back.

Alastair’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “That will lessen. Still taking the distancing drugs?”

Timmy nodded.

“I assume you plan on weaning off your suppressants?”

Timmy hugged himself and fisted the fabric of his sweater below his ribs.

Armie must have sensed discomfort flaring from his omega. “We haven’t discussed that yet.” His hand rubbed up and down Timmy’s spine.

Realizing his mistake, Alastair leaned back in his chair. “Of course. My apologies. It’s just that it’s expected by wolves in your position that Timmy go off suppressants now that you’re married.”

“It is?” Armie asked, unaware of the fancy rules.

Alastair inclined his head.

“Well. We like defying expectations,” Armie said.

Timmy didn’t say anything, but he did tilt his head up and nudge the edge of Armie’s jaw with the tip of his nose.

Alastair cleared his throat to hide his smile, but it didn’t work. The old man’s eyes twinkled just watching them. “Have there been any additional … episodes between you?”

He meant had Timmy almost killed Armie with his emotions again.

“Not since Friday,” Armie said. “But that’s what we brought you here to discuss. The problem is twofold. I want to protect Timmy from the black sludge, but I can’t.”

“I have to do that,” Timmy whispered.

Armie ruffled the short hair on the back of Timmy’s head. “I know, little one.”

Timmy blushed and tried to hide how much his pet name pleased him. It was normal for alphas to praise their omegas, make them feel adored, but Timmy was still getting used to Armie’s shameless, overt affection.

“The second problem is our connection,” Armie continued. “I am pleased to have a sense of Timmy’s emotions. I don’t want us to lose that connection. But we need to be able to block each other out a little. Be of a separate mind, especially under emotional duress. I can’t comfort Timmy if I’m unconscious on the floor. And the full moon is Thursday.”

“Ah.” Alastair’s fluffy, white eyebrows shot up.

Although Armie was worried about the full moon, Timmy regarded it with interest. Being on suppressants, it didn’t affect him, but he knew alpha werewolves became, well, horny. At school, he’d heard hushed retellings of full moon orgies. Omegas were never included, obviously, as they were kept virginal until marriage, but for normal werewolves? All rules went out the window on the full moon.

“You won’t be spending the moon together, I assume.”

“No! God, no,” Armie said. “That would be a really bad idea.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Is the nearness of the moon affecting you already?” Alastair asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” he said, although Timmy’s alpha did look a tad flushed. “On Thursday, I’ll be staying in a hotel, but I still worry that my thoughts might reach Timmy.”

“I don’t mind.” Timmy chewed his bottom lip around a smile.

Armie wrapped him in a playful hug. “Yeah, I bet you don’t.”

Alastair’s quiet snort-laugh interrupted what could easily have become a wrestling match. They’d done a bit of sparring the day before in bed, and Timmy had loved it—loved fighting a battle he wouldn’t win, ending with Armie’s weight on top of him.

“I do have an idea regarding the black sludge,” the doctor said. “When it comes, Timmy, I assume it is accompanied by negative images. Things you’d rather not think about.”

He nodded and tried not to think about those exact things.

“What if when the negative images come, you replace those images with good things? It’ll take focus and practice. It will feel like a battle in your brain, but I believe you can do it. You have to collect an arsenal. Every bullet of bad can be answered with a volleying shot of good. Does that make sense?”

“Y-yes.” He scrunched up his face. “It’s just, when the black sludge comes, it’s like I can’t remember anything good.”

Alastair pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “That’s why you will develop your arsenal. Be prepared.”

“But I can’t do that when I’m asleep.”

Armie gave his shoulders a squeeze.

“Indeed,” Alastair continued, “that is outside my expertise, but I have a friend, a specialist, I can refer you to.”

“That would be good,” Armie said while Timmy’s head crowded with the word “crazy, crazy, crazy.” He focused and replaced that word with Armie’s voice, with “little one,” and although not calm, he felt calmer.

“In regards to blocking each other, I’ll need to look into that, make some calls. I can probably get back to you by the end of the day, if that’s all right.” He stood, and Armie mimicked the movement.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Timmy, I suggest you spend the afternoon building that arsenal of positive images. Can you do that for me?”

He bristled. Alastair was probably just trying to be gentle, but Timmy felt coddled like a child. He wasn’t a child. He had found his parents’ dead bodies and survived. Now, he was married and bonded, soon to be twenty. He stood and tried not to snap, “Yes,” but apparently failed as Alastair flinched.

Armie controlled his laughter until the elder gentleman exited the room. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” he said.

Timmy pouted, but any embarrassment vanished when Armie grinned, took his hand, and led him back to the couch.

“How about we work on some of those positive images?”

They sat facing each other, hands clasped.

“You feel warm,” Timmy said.

“It’s just the moon. It’ll happen off and on over the next few days. Nothing to worry about.” He squeezed Timmy’s fingers. “What’s a positive image?”

Timmy closed his eyes and considered. “Mm, rolling butterscotch oatmeal dough into little balls.”

“Some of Dot’s cookies sound really good right now. What else?”

Timmy opened some doors in his brain, careful to avoid others. “Reading French to you at night even though you don’t know what the hell I’m saying.”

He chuckled. “Good one.”

One particular door glowed gold. Timmy opened it, stepped inside, and traveled back to that night in Armie’s bed when they’d accidentally fallen asleep together. Timmy had woken to Armie pressing him down into the bed, rutting against him, eyes yellow with lust. The wolf, right on the surface and wanting its mate.

When Timmy opened his eyes in the library, Armie’s face was bright red. Timmy barely had time to register the scent of his alpha’s arousal before Armie’s mouth was on his. He somehow managed to scoot Timmy around and down the couch, onto his back with Armie nestled between his spread thighs.

Timmy was dizzy with the realignment when Armie’s tongue invaded his mouth. Timmy sucked on it and moaned. Hypnotized by Armie’s taste, Timmy startled when Armie’s hands found their way up the back of his sweater. Armie’s nails scraped against his skin; his wolf was partially present. Timmy sensed it, especially when Armie bit down on his bottom lip with sharp teeth, not fully human.

Heat built between Timmy’s legs. He rolled his hips up to meet Armie’s, and Armie’s mouth stopped licking at their bonding mark long enough for Armie to cuss.

“Please,” Timmy muttered, not sure what he wanted, only that he wanted.

Timmy had pleasured himself before during his first and only heat at fifteen, but that was nothing compared to how he felt with Armie crushing him into the sofa. With Armie’s hands and mouth everywhere, Timmy’s skin was on fire, and he needed release.

“Take me, please,” he whispered, fingers squeezing and releasing the fabric of Armie’s shirt. “Please,” he begged.

And everything stopped.

Armie stopped moving, grabbing, kissing. He shook his head and leaned up on his elbows above Timmy. “Oh, my God,” he said before pushing back. He fell off the end of the couch and crawled a few feet away.

“Armie.” Timmy extended his hand, desperate to have his alpha back.

“Christ.” He shook his head again and rubbed his eyes. “Stay over there, Timmy.”

“Please come back.”

“No.” The wolf snarled in that one word.

Timmy curled in on himself and hugged his knees. “You told me to think positive thoughts.”

Armie smiled, out of breath and still red in the face. His shaggy, blond hair fell into his eyes. He shoved it away, but it fell right back down again. “You must have been thinking about something good. Your entire scent changed.”

“I was thinking about that night in your bed.”

Based on the way he froze, Armie knew exactly which night. “Oh.” 

Timmy unwound from his ball and reached for him once more. “Please, I can’t be away from you right now.”

Following a moment of hesitation, Armie crawled back to the couch but remained on the ground. He wrapped his arms around Timmy’s waist and buried his face against Timmy’s non-existent belly. His body heaved on a sigh. “We really need to work on blocking each other, because if you think thoughts like that again, I’m going to ravage you on the nearest flat surface.”

Timmy laughed and buried his face in Armie’s hair. He took a deep breath of his alpha, and even if his skin still burned, he felt quenched by the nearness of his mate.

Armie

Armie’s omega was not to be trusted. They sat on the same couch, Armie facing forward and Timmy facing towards him, toes wiggled beneath Armie’s thigh. “I’m cold,” he’d said earlier but had barely been able to contain an impish grin.

Timmy read some book in French with a colorful cover. Armie read the newspaper while a fire cracked and popped in the fireplace. Beyond the tall library windows, the silent night passed peacefully.

And Armie was in hell.

His temperature kept spiking and returning to normal. He knew he wasn’t sick and blamed it on the forthcoming full moon, but she’d never been this magnetic, not for Armie. It was true, he’d always had a good grip on his wolf, even during the full moon. They were both calm creatures. Of course, it was also true that Armie had taken part in full moon orgies, but he’d been young and curious then. He hadn’t done anything like that in years, hadn’t felt the urge.

He was having several urges that night, especially with Timmy so close, smelling of lavender following a post-dinner bath. After their long day, the omega was back in loose, soft pajamas; Armie preferred him that way. Timmy was beautiful in a bespoke suit, but Timmy in pajamas was starting to remind Armie of home. Safety. Warmth. He looked small and sweet, innocent … but oh, no, he wasn’t innocent, wiggling his toes beneath Armie’s thigh.

_Wiggle, wiggle._

Armie still couldn’t quite believe the visceral, animalistic response he’d had to Timmy that afternoon, and all it had taken was for Timmy to _think_ of something amorous. He hadn’t said anything or moved, but a single filthy thought had filled the library with the scent of the omega’s lust—and Armie had pounced.

Blame the full moon for his irresponsibility.

But it wasn’t only the moon.

When he’d first met Timmy, Armie had wanted to protect the boy. The sickly, fragile, frightened boy. _Protect_ had been the one and only instinct. As days passed, Armie’s need to protect had continued but a fondness had grown, as well. He genuinely liked Timmy and enjoyed being around him and not only because of their wolves. Timmy, when not suffocating in the sludge, was a pleasant, easy-going young man. Smart and funny. Charming in the clumsy way most boys are before they become men. Playful.

At some point, that fondness had morphed into ardor. Armie couldn’t pinpoint the moment when Timmy had become a sexual creature. His increased health certainly added to his allure, as Armie could never have imagined bedding the sad skeleton he’d first met. In the course of so many cuddles and touches and, yes, kisses—glorious kisses—Timmy had become the singular focus of Armie’s lust.

And Timmy knew.

_Wiggle, wiggle._

He knew or at least suspected the power he was beginning to hold over his alpha, his mate. Which was why he could not be trusted. They now played a dangerous game, a game of temptation, so Armie had invited Luca to join them in the library after dinner that night.

What with Armie’s growing attraction and the approaching moon, he and Timmy needed to stop spending time alone, at least until Friday when Armie would return to the Chalamet Estate, his wolf quiet for another moon cycle.

When Timmy tried wiggling his toes even further beneath Armie’s thigh, he grabbed one of Timmy’s ankles and squeezed. “Behave,” he whispered.

For his part, Luca was distracted by a book about Italian cinema while sipping brandy from a snifter.

“I am behaving,” Timmy whispered back. “My feet are just cold.”

“They’re not cold. You’re teasing me.”

“Am not.” He didn’t look up from his book.

“You’re poking the bear.”

One of his eyebrows lifted, but he still avoided Armie’s gaze. “Don’t you mean wolf?”

Armie glanced at Luca before setting his newspaper down. He pulled one of Timmy’s feet out from beneath his thigh. Timmy must have sensed an impending attack because he did look up from his book then … just as Armie gave his foot an experimental tickle.

Timmy tried to jerk his foot back, but Armie didn’t let go. Armie tickled some more, and Timmy gave his foot another pull. His French book fell to the floor in his backwards scramble to get away, but Timmy wasn’t going anywhere, not with Armie holding his ankle in place.

“No,” he said, but seriousness could not be believed due to the bout of giggles he tried to suppress. “Armie, _stop!”_

“Why should I?” The tickling escalated.

Timmy went from suppressed giggles to a silent, open-mouthed guffaw. Face red, he punched at Armie’s shoulder and wiggled his foot left and right. Armie looked away from the beauty of his torturous joy long enough to notice Luca watching them, face soft with affection.

“Can’t … breathe,” Timmy said through laughter as he tried rolling off the couch. He made it about halfway before Armie stopped tickling and scooped him into his arms, their chests pressed together. Reverberations from Timmy’s giggle poured down the side of Armie’s neck. “You’re not nice,” he said with arms around his alpha.

“I’m so nice.”

Luca closed his book. “Would you both like to heed some of Alastair’s advice before retiring for the night?”

Alastair had called before dinner—a dinner spent with Timmy on Armie’s lap while Armie fed him, as usual. Timmy had spent the afternoon thinking of good images to replace the black sludge. He’d even written them down so that he could always carry the list in his pocket.

Then, Alastair had called with a referral to a therapist that Timmy would see Thursday along with a few exercises Timmy and Armie were to practice together. The ability to block each other’s emotions was paramount, mostly to Armie who, on more than one occasion, had felt cold creeping akin to death whenever Timmy was upset.

With Jennings coming in the morning to discuss the man’s threats, Armie figured this was as good a time as any. Who knew what Timmy’s emotions might do the following day? Then again, if Jennings really was trying to steal his omega, Armie’s rage might turn out to be more worrisome. He nodded at Luca.

Just as Timmy was to visualize positive images when the black sludge approached, alpha and omega defensive techniques were of the same ilk. They were each supposed to design and build a wall in their minds. That wall could look like anything they wished—whatever visualization stuck—and the wall did as any tall wall might: it kept things out.

They sat side-by-side on the couch, hands clasped between them, and closed their eyes.

“Get to work, stone masons,” Luca said.

Armie smiled at that but did get building. He knew the exact wall he would use: the monstrosity of gray brick that had surrounded a decrepit house in his youth. The house had been considered haunted, so he—and all the other kids—had often tried breaking in, but that wall had been impenetrable. All Armie had ever seen of the old house had been the spires that rose high above the wall, but the wall had done its job. Covered in green ivy, it had kept children away. It would protect Armie from Timmy’s pain, as well.

Unsure of how much time had passed, Armie opened his eyes. Luca had gone back to reading, and Timmy’s eyes remained shut. He gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. “What does your wall look like?”

Eyes still shut, he said, “It’s big and red. I’ve always found red to be a threatening color. Angry. And there’s a demon face on it. A demon face with horns.”

“You’re hoping to scare my emotions away, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Timmy said. “Or the demon eats them. Gobbles them up.”

“I like that,” Armie said.

Timmy opened his eyes. “Your wall has to be stronger than mine. Is it?”

“We’ll find out.”

Before parting in the upstairs hallway, Armie leaned down and kissed Timmy’s cheek. Despite being “trouble,” Timmy didn’t push for more.

“Sleep well, little one.”

Armie watched Timmy walk away to his room. He watched until his omega disappeared behind his bedroom door—then watched some more. Skin warm, Armie’s wolf wanted to follow. His wolf chanted _“want, take, mine,”_ but Armie tugged at his collar, took a deep breath, and spun on his heel. He rushed to his room, closed the door, and slept peacefully with the scent of Timmy still on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up .... A confrontation with Jennings.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get ugly with Jennings, and Armie has a meltdown.

Timmy

For the confrontation with Jennings, Timmy dressed with intent. Despite his too-slim limbs, Timmy didn’t layer up. He didn’t hide the way his once healthy body had dwindled to a state of weakness. He didn’t need to hide. Armie made him stronger. Even Timmy himself was beginning to feel stronger, due to both the bonding bite but also his return to food and sleep. Armie insisted on both. Luca had done the same, but it hadn’t stuck. Hearing his alpha tell him to eat and sleep? He hopped to. Especially if Armie fed him from his own fingertips, as had become the norm.

He wore a thin green V-neck sweater over slim jeans and leather ankle boots. He didn’t bother taming his hair; Armie liked it bed-ruffled. He also didn’t wear any customary omega makeup. Timmy didn’t give a shit about what Jennings thought of him. Well, he _knew_ what Jennings thought of him.

Jennings was a lecher. He drank too much at parties, and when he drank too much, he stared at Timmy—no, leered. He wanted Timmy, even slim and sickly. Perhaps more so with Timmy slim and sickly, easier to toss around, control, pin down. Timmy shivered; Jennings had always given him the creeps. The idea that the man thought he’d have a chance at courting Timmy? Laughable.

Thunder shook the windowpane in Timmy’s bedroom. It was late in the season for a thunderstorm, but Timmy didn’t take it as a harbinger of bad tidings. He didn’t believe in signs. If signs were real, he wouldn’t have so cheerfully went off to see a film with Tanner the night his parents died. Instead, there would have been a raven on the front porch, a figure with a scythe outside the movie theater. But nothing like that. Just a friend, a film, laughter, and—

Timmy remembered the silence in the house when he had come home. His father had sent both Luca and Dot away for a few hours to a fancy dinner, which had happened on occasion, especially since Timmy would have been out of the house, too. It had meant Timmy’s parent had wanted some … _private time._

Although not fated mates like Armie’s parents, Joe and Nancy Chalamet had still been desperately in love, even up until the day they died. Timmy had admired their marriage his whole life—the light touches, tender smiles, and stolen kisses. He hadn’t understood it then, but he understood it now with Armie.

But he couldn’t think about Armie right then, couldn’t get soft with Jennings about to arrive. Timmy focused instead on the silence of the house when he’d come home that night. Walking into the kitchen for a glass of water before bed, he’d only glimpsed their torn bodies for a moment before lurching back into the hallway and emptying his stomach of popcorn and soda.

He closed his eyes as the black sludge threatened and reached for the wedding ring on his left hand. He spun the ring back and forth, back and forth. He still wasn’t used to it, a foreign object that felt slippery after he washed his hands. Timmy had never worn jewelry before, but he now never took it off, not only in homage to Armie but also because it had become his weapon. The wedding ring stood for everything good; the black sludge didn’t stand a chance. It receded when he took a deep breath, but it lingered in his peripheral. It was always waiting to attack, but the ring—Armie—would keep it away.

Then, Luca’s knock, familiarly quick and crisp, unlike Armie’s that felt akin to a caress. “Mr. Jennings has arrived,” he said through the closed door.

“Coming.” Timmy nodded at his reflection in the mirror as lightning flashed outside.

They adjourned to the parlor because Timmy wanted Jennings nowhere near the cozy library, Timmy’s favorite room in the house. Timmy passed a police officer on his way. They were still keeping an eye on the Chalamet Estate, and Armie had requested one officer be close just in case things took a violent turn.

Jennings, the massive man, sat drinking coffee while Luca lingered in the corner, waiting to serve. Although Timmy had never found Jennings attractive, the black hair suited him, but his immense size was more threatening than sensual, unlike Armie, whose immensity made Timmy feel treasured and safe. As soon as Timmy entered, Armie was in front of him, wrapping him in a hug. With his cheek pressed against Armie’s chest, he looked at Jennings, who—like everyone else lately—wore a wide-eyed look of bewilderment.

Jennings stood as Armie kissed Timmy’s forehead and stepped back. The unwelcome alpha tilted forward in a semi-bow while his large fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Jennings had called Timmy beautiful once, many months ago, and he obviously thought Timmy was beautiful once again. Those fists wanted to reach out, grab, take and Timmy knew it. Even if he couldn’t smell the emotions of alphas other than his own, he knew a look of lust when he saw one.

Tension rolled off Armie, but Timmy put a hand on his chest. He’d already told Armie not to intervene, to let Timmy take charge this once.

“Master Chalamet,” Jennings said. Even his voice was slimy.

“Please, Mr. Jennings, sit.” They sat in chairs facing each other while Armie stayed standing, lingering over Timmy’s right shoulder. “Luca, could we have some privacy?”

“Sir.” He nodded and disappeared.

Thunder rolled, and rain like a waterfall plunged down the windows.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we invited you here,” Timmy said.

Jennings spared once glance at Armie and must have felt the glance wasted, because his hungry gaze continued appraising Timmy. “I suppose. You look well, Timothee.”

“Do I?”

Jennings’s eyes crinkled. “I think you know you do.”

“It’s all thanks to my alpha.”

He scoffed. “Right. Your _alpha_.” He didn’t hide his disdain for Armie, a middle-class werewolf with no right to a high society omega.

Armie’s tension began shifting, mutating into a cloud of fury, but the man showed no intention to move. Armie had once told Timmy he didn’t like alpha posturing; he apparently meant it. It was also nice to know he respected Timmy enough to heed his wishes and merely observe.

Timmy’s tongue touched his bottom lip, and Jennings noticed. His dark eyes studied that moist bit of Timmy’s skin as one might a delectable dessert. “Do you not approve of my alpha?” Timmy asked.

“If you’re fated mates, you’re fated mates. Of course you could have done better.” He shrugged with no regard for Armie. His arrogance was galling as it was laughable.

Timmy slowly crossed one leg over the other. He purposely made his movements languid, sensual. He’d told Armie he didn’t share the same social “switch” as his mother, but he’d already proved himself wrong at the gala, where he had flipped that switch and smiled and socialized with grace rivaling even hers. Now, he tried to be … sexy. He’d never been sexy before. If Armie saw him as such, it was incidental, more a part of their physical chemistry than any effort on Timmy’s part. Nothing was incidental about the way Timmy acted in that moment, and it worked based on the way Jennings’s jaw clenched.

“Could have done better?” Timmy folded his hands right in his lap. “With you, perhaps?”

Jennings chuckled once with no amusement. “I’m sorry, Timothee, but why exactly did you invite me here?”

“What did you say to Armie at The Ferangaro?”

“I’m sure I don’t recall.”

“Don’t you?”

For the second time in their conversation, Jennings looked at Armie.

Timmy pushed to standing. “If you’ve forgotten, I can remind you. I think it was something about how Armie wouldn’t _enjoy me_ for long.”

Jennings tugged the tie knot at his neck. “Come now, I’d been drinking. I didn’t mean—”

“That you were going to have him killed?”

“No! No, of course not!” He lurched up from his seat. “Is this why I’m here? To be accused?”

Timmy forgot what fear was. He stepped almost chest-to-chest in front of Jennings and stared up at the much, much larger alpha. “Sit down.”

Jennings grit his teeth. “I don’t take orders from little baby omegas.”

“Did you have my parents killed, too?”

His skin blanched. “Wh—”

“You’ve always wanted me. Was it because of my money or the way I look?”

Jennings leaned over, looming above Timmy. “ _Both_ , you little shit. If you were my omega, I would have you over my knee right now.”

He didn’t see but felt Armie move behind him and held a hand out to stall his alpha’s movements. “Do you want Armie dead?”

“We all do,” Jennings growled. “He doesn’t deserve all you have, and your idiot parents would have agreed.”

Timmy’s wolf stirred inside him.

Jennings leaned so close, Timmy felt little bits of spit hit his face. “I hear they were torn to shreds and that you cry yourself to sleep every night. Does the little baby omega miss his mommy and daddy?”

His wolf, usually so docile, paced inside Timmy as Jennings continued.

“Is that what made you fucked up enough to get married and bonded before your twentieth? All of high society _scoffs._ Your parents are better off dead rather than seeing what you’ve become.” He bared his teeth between every word: “Better off dead.”

Timmy had the strange sense of leaving his own body. Vision red, he vaguely felt fabric tearing beneath his hands. Something growled, low and angry, nearby. People shouted.

Then … Armie.

Timmy smelled Armie’s fear. Armie was afraid.

Armie was calling Timmy’s name, yelling it, screaming it.

Timmy blinked, and the red tint cleared. He came back into his own body—a body now being roughly embraced from behind by his alpha.

Jennings shouted from the floor, the front of his suit torn. He pointed at Timmy as Luca and the policeman helped him to his feet. “You killed your parents, didn’t you? You monster! You all saw. The boy is mad! Mad!” He stomped from the room, police officer hot on his heels.

“Wh …” Timmy looked to Luca for explanation, but Luca—his beloved guardian—stared back in fear.

“Breathe, little one,” Armie whispered in his ear, arms like chains around Timmy’s chest.

“I don’t …” Only then did he notice his hands were not hands at all but claws. “Oh, my God.” He’d started turning in the middle of the parlor. He’d lost control to his wolf and attacked Jennings.

Timmy’s knees buckled, but Armie kept him standing—Armie, who held him, rocked him back and forth, and told him to breathe.

Armie

Outside, a storm still raged, not that Armie could hear it over the sound of the jukebox. It was just past lunchtime, and he was well on his way to being drunk. He hit his cigarette, and smoke danced around his face. Armie hadn’t actually bought cigarettes in years, enjoying just the occasional coffin nail when under duress. Well, he was under duress. He finished his third whiskey and gestured to the bearded bartender for another just as his father stepped up to his side.

“A little early, isn’t it?” Carl Hammer smirked, but there was no judgment, especially when he told the bartender to give him the same. He sat on the barstool to Armie’s right. “I assume we’re not celebrating.”

Armie took a gulp of his newest drink. “Do you think Timmy could murder someone?”

Carl froze with his drink halfway to his mouth. “Do _you?”_

He snubbed out his cigarette, sipped and returned his glass to the perpetually sticky bar. Armie hadn’t picked a “nice” place to meet his father. He wasn’t used to drinking in “nice” places, but now, he was stupidly rich and married into high society. He supposed “nice” would be the new norm, so a shitty dive bar was perfect under the circumstances.

“I saw him angry today, Dad. I’d never seen him angry before.” 

Carl nudged his shoulder. “It couldn’t have been all that bad.”

He spun to face his father. It was like time traveling and looking in a mirror. “He started turning. He had an alpha twice his size on the ground.”

Carl sipped before responding. “Has he ever started turning before?”

“No, but like I said, I’d never seen him angry before.” He ran a hand through his hair. “When he snapped out of it, it was like he didn’t even know what had happened.”

“Ah.” He paused. “You’re suggesting small, sweet Timothee Chalamet got angry one night, viciously tore his parents to shreds, and promptly forgot.”

Armie giggled. “God, that’s not funny.”

“It kind of is. If you really think Timmy killed his parents.” He rubbed what was almost a beard even though he’d probably shaved the day before.

“Of course, then Kent showed up. That motherfucker. Jennings … the, uh, alpha Timmy attacked, he’s threatening to press charges.” He reached for another cigarette, but Carl’s hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Why was there another alpha in your house? Especially so close to the full moon.”

“My temperature has been all over the place. I almost ravaged Timmy yesterday.” He winced. “God, why am I telling my dad that? Uh, Jennings was there because he threatened me last week. We thought he might be the alpha who wants me dead.”

“So you invited him into your home?”

He rubbed his eyes and whined, “It’s not my home.”

“It is now, Armie.”

“Timmy wanted to see the guy—Jennings. He wanted to see his face when they talked, and for some dumb reason, I have trouble saying no to Timmy. Fated mates and that shit.” He finished the rest of his drink. “Anyway, we had protection.”

Carl stiffened at his side. “Speaking of, should you be out alone?”

He sighed. “I’m not alone.” Pointed his thumb over his shoulder where he knew two plain-clothes police officers stood watching. Even in jeans and button down shirts, it was obvious they were cops.

“I see.”

When Armie lifted his hand toward the bartender, Carl pushed it back down. His father might have been onto something. The dingy bar hall had taken on a warm, fuzzy feeling—and the place was neither of those things. His father must have continued communicating with the barman, because water soon appeared in place of his empty rocks glass.

“I’m not worried,” Armie said. “We’re bonded now, so if anyone hurt me, they’d hurt Timmy, too.” He stared at the ring on his finger. “Fuck, Dad, I’m bonded. I’m married and bonded to someone I don’t even know.”

Carl’s hand rested on Armie’s upper back. “Don’t be silly. You know Timmy. The sad, quiet boy who grows more beautiful the more time he spends with you.”

Armie leaned his elbows on the bar and rubbed his forehead in an effort to hide his distress—not that he could hide it from his own father, who probably smelled the panic like burnt hair rising from Armie’s every pore. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Dad. I didn’t want this. He’s so fucked up, and I don’t know what to do. I want to run away, but then, I can’t imagine being away from him.” He clenched his jaw to keep the tears at bay.

“You know how I met your mother.”

Armie nodded.

“I met my fated mate when I was in college at nineteen, Timmy’s age right now, and you know one of the first things I thought? I’m only ever going to have sex with one woman for the rest of my life. And that really bummed me out.”

Armie laughed. “Dad!”

“We have no control over anything. It’s stupid that we think we do. You say this wasn’t supposed to happen, but it was—for you and for Timmy. That boy needs you, and you need him. Your whole life, you were never a caretaker. You couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive.”

“Don’t talk about Mr. Bubbles,” he muttered.

Carl gave the back of Armie’s neck a squeeze. “Now, look at you. You are a strong, responsible alpha. You’re bringing Timmy back to life.”

“Then, why did I run out on him an hour ago?”

Carl picked up his glass and took a sip of whiskey. “You were bound to have a meltdown at some point. In the past two weeks, you found your fated mate, became rich, got shot at, and got married and bonded. Not to mention the shadow of an unsolved double homicide.”

“Well. When you put it that way.”

Carl gave his shoulder a shake. “It’s time to go home now, son. You’ve had your tantrum. You can’t do this to him again. Okay?”

Armie nodded.

His father must have gestured to the police officers, because next thing he knew, they stood behind him and his bar tab was paid.

Armie sobered up some on the drive back to the Chalamet Estate, although he still felt numb around the edges. Which was fine. Preferred really. The officers escorted him to the front door. It was nearing dinnertime, so the front windows glowed gold with late afternoon sun.

In the foyer, Luca stood waiting, his mouth a thin line almost hidden by his dark moustache.

“Where is he?” Armie asked.

“In your room. Sir.” The final word gushed with disdain, and then, Luca hurried away toward the kitchen.

Armie’s feet had never felt so heavy. Even from down the hall, he could smell Timmy and the scent of, unmistakably, grief. God, why had he left the boy? What had he been thinking? He took the last few steps at a run and, due to the overabundance of alcohol, stumbled as he flung open his bedroom door.

Timmy sat cross-legged in the center of Armie’s bed. He’d changed out of his earlier clothes and now wore the familiar Timmy ensemble of sweatshirt and pajama pants, no socks. He didn’t startle, didn’t look up; the black sludge wasn’t creeping. Not yet.

“Timmy.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

Due to their bonding, that wasn’t possible, but emotions often drowned out logic.

“I scared you today,” Timmy whispered.

Armie opened his mouth to lie, but Timmy continued.

“I know I did.” Head tilted down, he refused to look at Armie. “I felt it. I scared you.”

Again, Armie opened his mouth to refute, but his knees shook. The earlier tears he’d swallowed would not be deterred. He didn’t mean for his voice to tremble when he spoke, but it did. “I’m scared of everything right now.”

Whether it was the broken sound of his voice or Armie’s scent, Timmy lifted his head then. With wide eyes, he took in the sight of his alpha before vaulting from the bed. He almost knocked Armie over with the force of his embrace. Instead, Armie took a step until his back met the closed bedroom door. He squeezed Timmy, his little one, so tightly, he feared he might cut off his breath—but he couldn’t stop. He bent down and wrapped his arms around Timmy’s waist. He lifted Timmy’s feet off the ground as they hugged and Armie cried.

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

Timmy’s breath was warm against his neck. “It was what you needed.”

“It wasn’t what _you_ needed.”

“It can’t always be about me. You need help, too.” His arms squeezed Armie’s shoulders. “And whiskey, apparently.”

Armie chuckled through his tears and returned Timmy’s feet to the ground. He finger-brushed Timmy’s unremarkable hair that was remarkable because it was attached to him.

“Come on.” He took Armie’s hand and pulled him to the bed. He pushed Armie onto his back and sat beside him. “I’ll ask Luca to bring you some food. He’s not very happy with you right now.”

Armie put his hand on Timmy’s knee, glad the room wasn’t spinning. “I don’t blame him. I’ll never leave you like that again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Things can’t always be perfect between us. Even my parents fought, and they were in love.”

Armie squeezed his knee. “Are we not?”

Timmy’s body froze, but his eyes traveled to Armie’s face. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s my wolf or me. I don’t think I love you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Timmy poked him in the side. “Well, do you love me?”

“No, but I’m very fond of you.” He leaned up on his elbows. “And I want to touch you all the time.”

He smirked. “Now, _that’s_ the wolf talking.”

“No, it’s not.” Armie shook his head.

“Then, it’s the booze.”

“No, it’s just me.” He sat up and tangled their fingers together. “I’m sorry I left today.”

“I’m sorry I scared you. That’s never happened before. I’ve never lost control of my wolf like that.”

Armie shrugged. “In all honesty, it was probably better you than me. With the things Jennings was saying, I would have killed him.”

“I wanted to.” Timmy stared at their intertwined fingers. “It was … it felt foreign to be so angry. I’ve never been an angry person. Even after my parents, I never had a sense of righteous indignation. Like, anger that someone had done that, that someone had stolen them from me. But I was angry today.”

Armie lifted Timmy’s chin. “Well, if that’s what happens when you’re angry, let’s try to keep angry Timmy to a minimum.”

Oh, how lovely to see the boy smile. “Yeah, okay.”

“Now, you mentioned asking Luca for food. Can you ask him not to spit in mine?”

Timmy nodded. “I can ask.” He rolled off the back of the bed.

Before he reached the door, Armie said, “I don’t _not_ love you.”

Timmy turned back around, hugged himself. “That’s a dumb thing to say, Armie,” he said, although the smile he tried to hide said he was secretly pleased.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing comments! You make me thrive!

Timmy

In the estate foyer, Timmy latched onto Armie’s wrist and pulled. “Don’t go. Please.”

Armie looked to where Timmy’s fingers dug into his skin. “You know I have to go into work today.”

“No, you don’t! You’re a writer. You can work from anywhere!”

Armie winced. Even in his state of panic, Timmy realized he sounded like a screeching bird. Armie stopped trying to dislodge himself from Timmy’s wrist and turned to fully face his omega. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not safe for you out there.”

“Two policemen are waiting outside to escort me.”

Timmy shook his head. “No, someone wants to hurt you.”

And it wasn’t Jennings. According to Detective Kent, Jennings had been otherwise occupied with a paid-for beta on the evening in question.

“I left yesterday, and you didn’t behave like this,” Armie said.

“That’s because I didn’t know you were leaving!” Timmy shouted. “You were just gone. I didn’t have time to think about it!”

Armie, with fingers much stronger than Timmy’s, peeled Timmy’s grip from his wrist and put both his hands on Timmy’s shoulders. “Little one, I need you to calm down.”

Timmy gripped Armie’s forearms. “What if something happens to you? What if—what if a car hits you? Or you fall down stairs?” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t see the black sludge, but he heard it sloshing nearby like the gurgle of an upset stomach.

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“We never expect anything bad to happen to anybody, and then, something does, and that person is gone forever.” He sobbed once, so hard that his forehead thumped uncomfortably against the center of Armie’s chest.

Armie cussed and wrapped his arms around Timmy. “We can’t live like this, Timmy. We can’t hide in the house forever.”

Timmy gripped the front of Armie’s dress shirt. “Then, I’ll come with you.” At least then, if something went wrong, they could die together.

“No. You won’t.” His firm tone allowed no argument. “Alastair is coming over today with your crazy person doctor for a consultation.”

A smile escaped through the tears. Calling Timmy’s therapist a “crazy person doctor” added levity to a process that could be long and painful, so it had become a joke between them. Something to lessen Timmy’s dread.

Armie wiped Timmy’s tear-soaked cheeks with his thumbs. “I thought you were going to make excessive amounts of Dot’s spaghetti sauce today, too.”

He nodded.

“See? I’ll be back before you know it.”

“If anything happens to you—”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.” He kissed Timmy’s forehead and the tip of his nose. “How about tonight we eat too many cookies, and you read me a book I actually understand?”

Timmy ran his fingertips over Armie’s lips—which had the desired effect. So close to the full moon, Armie’s wolf was stronger, and Timmy’s light touch made his eyes glow yellow for a second and back to blue.

Armie grabbed Timmy’s hand and smirked. “Trouble.” He kissed those curious fingers before gently pushing Timmy back. “Good luck today. I’ll see you when I get home.”

By mid-afternoon, Timmy wasn’t sure if he was more physically or emotionally exhausted. He had spent much of the morning in the kitchen with Dot. She made her spaghetti sauce from scratch, so there had been the chopping and thrashing of many tomatoes in bright shades of red with hints of yellow and green. And all the garlic. Dot loved using garlic in, well, everything. Timmy never complained.

Then, Dr. Alastair had arrived with a small female beta wolf. The “crazy person doctor” insisted Timmy call her Susan, and it hadn’t been as terrible as he’d expected, probably because it had only been an assessment, not a real appointment. She’d asked him about his dreams, the black sludge, and how often he felt sad. He’d answered her questions, but he had not mentioned that voice that still sometimes goaded him to _just die already._ And she hadn’t brought up his parents—yet.

Now, he sat in the library with a blanket around his shoulders and an open book in his lap. A book he’d read for five minutes before giving up. His mind circled round and round thoughts of Armie and the surprise Luca had helped Timmy prepare for when Armie arrived home that evening. Even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to, even though he knew they were purposefully building walls to protect Armie from the sludge, Timmy tried reaching out to his alpha just to see if he could.

So distracted with trying to communicate with Armie through the ancient power of their wolves, Timmy startled when a hand rested on his shoulder. The book bounced from his lap, and Samuel Evans knelt to retrieve it.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He set the book on the table next to Timmy and crouched down in front of him. Sun sifted through the windows and made his green eyes shine, especially when he smiled. “You look amazing, Timmy.”

Timmy shifted in his seat. He went from sitting cross-legged like a child to having both his feet on the floor. With Armie at work, he was man of the house, omega or not. “Samuel. Hello. Please, sit.” He gestured to the leather chair nearest him.

Samuel wasn’t graceful like Armie. Timmy had always known his father’s business partner to be klutzy, despite his alpha status. To Timmy, Samuel was very much a full-grown nerd who’d probably worn glasses as a kid and acne as a teen. He was now a very rich numbers man at Chalamet Oil and Timmy’s father’s best friend. When his father had been alive. Without a family of his own, Samuel had spent many holidays with the Chalamet clan, like a friendly uncle—which was why Timmy had found it strange to learn Samuel had planned to court him. It felt … incestuous.

Samuel sat in his expensive suit, crossed his legs, and folded his large fists in his lap. “You really do look good.”

“You don’t,” Timmy replied, not out of cruelty but concern. Samuel’s cheeks were sunken, his eyes tired. He reminded Timmy of himself before Armie.

Samuel chuckled. “I know. Perhaps you are the only person who can relate, but I feel a part of me is gone. I finally went through your father’s office today. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to go through his things at work.”

Timmy nodded. “Luca took down all the family portraits and hid them in Father’s den. I haven’t set foot in there.”

Samuel rubbed two fingers back and forth across his forehead. “In the weeks after their death, I didn’t check on you enough.”

“It wasn’t your—”

Samuel must have understood that Timmy was about so say “responsibility,” because he jumped in with a, “Yes, it was. I was Joe’s best friend, and I abandoned his child. It’s selfish of me, but seeing you reminds me of them. I know you have people, but I’ll always be here for you, too. Always.”

Timmy tried to sit up tall—be the master of his abode—but he couldn’t fight the slump of his shoulders. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

“I heard what happened with Jennings yesterday.”

“Yes,” Timmy muttered. “I suppose everyone has.”

“Perhaps, but the grand oaf actually listens to me, so he won’t be pressing charges.”

Those words erased Timmy’s slump. “Wh-really?”

“He won’t come near you again, you nor Armie.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Samuel scooted his chair forward close enough to rest a hand on Timmy’s knee. “Why do you keep acting like you mean nothing to me? We’re practically family.”

Timmy bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Samuel smiled with his lips pressed together and leaned back. “I assume you and Armie will be separated tomorrow night for the full moon.”

“Oh, well, yes.”

“I understand why you did it, of course, but getting bonded before you’re twenty?” He clicked his tongue. “You’re certainly not endearing high society to you or your middle class mate.”

Timmy lifted one shoulder. “I’d do anything to keep Armie safe.”

“I can see that. I assume he told you I invited him to join the family business.”

“I think there’s a better chance of me ending up your partner than Armie.”

Samuel leaned his head back and laughed. “Can you imagine? An omega at the helm of a multi-million dollar corporation? Alphas would walk all over you, Timmy.”

He bristled. “Have you found someone better, or is the board taking over in my father’s absence?”

“It’s in the works.” He pat Timmy’s knee the way one would pat the head of a small child. “Nothing for you to worry about. You own all your father’s shares. Money will keep coming to you and Armie.”

“No, I’m …” He shook his head. “I’m not worried about the money. I just want the company to run as my father would have wanted, with integrity and awareness. With kindness.”

“You sound as if we’re running a flower farm. We’re not running a charity, Timmy.”

“Yes, but my father always taught me to be honest and kind. Do you really think Chalamet Oil would be as successful as it is without Father’s principles?”

Samuel smirked. “You’re very cute when you talk business.” He stood and ruffled Timmy’s hair.

Timmy grimaced, but Samuel was too busy buttoning his suit coat to notice.

“Speaking of, I must return to the office. Right now, I am doing the work of two men. I will continue to defend you against alphas like Jennings.”

“I don’t need your defense.”

“I suppose you're right. Apologies. Goodbye, Timothee.” He cleared his throat and turned away.

Timmy listened to the click of Samuel’s dress shoes but spoke up before the man could leave. “Do you really think my father would have approved of you marrying me?” He glanced over his shoulder to find Samuel no longer a pillar of alpha strength and support, but slumped with eyes that glistened with grief.

“I would have been happy to have been bonded into your family.” His voice shook. He said, “Be well,” and left before any tears could fall.

Despite Samuel’s antiquated high society opinions on the alpha-omega dynamics, Timmy felt sad for the lonely rich man who’d lost not only his best friend but also the chance to marry someone he greatly cared for—even if Timmy did not return the sentiment. It was selfishly soothing to know Timmy was not alone in his suffering.

Timmy spent the rest of the afternoon in the library doing his best to erase the memory of Samuel’s pained expression. He replaced it with all the positive images he’d been accumulating to combat the black sludge. Images like Armie’s smile, autumn leaves in the garden, and oddly shaped handmade ravioli. Feelings worked better, though: the feel of Armie’s hot fingers creeping up the back of his shirt, Armie’s weight on top of him, or Armie’s fangs biting into the skin of Timmy’s neck. With his eyes closed, he caressed his bonding bite and smiled.

Once 5 PM hit, Timmy sat on the small divan nearest the front foyer and waited. At 5:30, the front door opened, and Armie’s wind-blown shag of straight hair entered first, followed by the alpha himself. Timmy took a running start and flung himself into Armie’s arms.

Armie laughed with his face buried in that familiar place where Timmy’s neck met his shoulder. “Happy to see me, I guess.”

“Did you feel me today?” Timmy whispered.

Armie pulled back. “Feel you?”

“I know we’re supposed to be building walls, but I reached out for you today, thinking happy thoughts. Did you feel it?”

Armie’s brow furrowed, and he smiled. “That was you? I was pouring a cup of coffee, and all of a sudden, it was like I felt a warm summer breeze.”

“So our connection isn’t _all_ bad,” Timmy said, bouncing on his toes.

“Not at all, little one.” 

Timmy grabbed his hand. “Now, come on. Before the sun goes down.”

They were already halfway up the grand staircase when Luca’s voice said, “Welcome home, Master Hammer” far below.

“Where are you taking me?” Armie asked.

“The third floor.”

“There’s a third floor?”

He dragged Armie behind him. “Yes. It’s where I used to spy on the servants when I was a child.” He pulled harder on Armie’s hand. “Hurry! The sun is almost in the perfect place.”

Armie kept pace but not before squeezing Timmy’s side.

Timmy twitched and giggled. “No tickling!”

“Someone is in a much better mood than when I left this morning.”

Timmy stopped and spun in front of a closed door on the second floor. Armie bumped into him and had to hold to Timmy’s shoulders to keep the small omega from tumbling backwards. “I’ll always be sad when you leave and happy when you come back.” He leaned up on his toes and kissed Armie’s chin. “This is for you.” He opened the door and pushed Armie up the small set of stairs behind it.

The third floor of the Chalamet Estate was technically an attic, but it wasn’t covered in cobwebs or old boxes of forgotten Christmas decorations. Those were in the basement. The third floor had been Timmy’s domain in his youth. Although the library was still his favorite room in the house—followed closely by the kitchen—the attic held memories of a happy childhood filled with laughter, love, and imagination.

He and Luca had spent the late morning cleaning it and arranging it just right for Armie. They’d lugged up a heavy antique desk, a green glass lamp, and the new typewriter Luca had surreptitiously bought at Timmy’s request days earlier. Now, all was set, complete with a vase of yellow roses the florist had said represented joy. All the accouterments sat against the large window at the back that overlooked the garden and hedge maze—and eventually mounds of white that winter would bring.

When Armie stopped at the top of the stairs, Timmy shoved him forward. “You have to see the view!” And they’d made it just in time. The sun would soon sink too low to cast the world in orange, but right then, the expanse outside glowed. Timmy half expected to see the glitter of fairies dancing amidst the lengthening shadow.

Armie didn’t say anything. His eyes swept the scene outside, the desk. His fingers touched the tips of a delicate rose. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t say anything.

Timmy stepped up to his side and rested his hand on the typewriter. “It’s for you, you see. A place where you can work on your absolutely not silly book.”

They’d spoken of it more, Armie’s real passion for fiction as journalism paid his bills. Not that he needed help paying bills anymore, but they’d talked about that, too—how Armie wouldn’t be quitting his job, how he wouldn’t be a leech on Timmy’s inheritance. But the book: that was what mattered most. Armie’s “silly” book about a hero, jungle adventures, and love. Timmy wasn’t allowed to read it until it was finished, so the attic was perhaps a push, a prod, to keep Armie writing wonderful things.

Although maybe Timmy had misread? Maybe Armie didn’t want to write in their home?

“Uh, well.” Timmy pulled his hand away from the typewriter. “If you don’t like it—”

Armie turned so fast, Timmy thought maybe the full moon had come early and Armie’s wolf had taken control. But no. Armie’s eyes didn’t glow yellow, and razor sharp incisors didn’t hang over his bottom lip. He was still just Armie, his Armie, who took Timmy’s face in his hands and said, “I love you.”

Had his actions forced Armie into saying that? Timmy shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to say it. But I really fucking want do.”

And he did mean it. The air shifted around them as Armie gave off waves of emotion that smelled sweeter than the fresh cut roses nearby. Timmy wanted to say it back. He was pretty sure he felt the same, but the people he’d loved most had been murdered. It would be a curse to say it to Armie, as though Timmy loving him would condemn Armie to his grave.

“Does that make you unhappy?” Armie started pulling his hands away from Timmy’s cheeks, but Timmy held them there with his own.

“No! That’s not it at all!” He sucked his bottom lip. “I’m scared of saying it to you. Like if I say it, something bad will happen, and I know that’s crazy. I loved my parents so much, and they died. If I love you and you go away, I won’t survive it. Not just because you’re my mate but also because I care for you. The way we met might have been accidental, but it’s no accident that you’re a good man who’s putting me back together.”

Armie’s lips interrupted his rambling. He kissed Timmy and lifted him easily onto the desk’s edge, where the kissing continued. Timmy pushed Armie’s suit coat from his shoulders, and Armie let him. He didn’t even stop Timmy from tugging the tails of his shirt free from his pants so Timmy could reach beneath and claw at the firm muscle of his alpha’s stomach. Timmy’s bonding bite burned, especially when Armie kissed it and licked across the lifelong scar.

The sound of a shattering vase stopped them from tearing off clothes, Timmy’s age be damned. They’d managed to knock the yellow roses to the ground where, surrounded by shards of white porcelain, they were still beautiful.

They embraced tightly as both men fought to regain his breath.

“Thank you for this,” Armie said. “Thank you for this room.”

“Well, how am I supposed to read this wonderful book of yours if you never finish it?”

He chuckled and leaned back.

“Oh, dear.” Timmy admired the mess he’d made of Armie’s hair. “You can’t let Luca see you like that.”

Armie tucked in his shirt. “And who do I have to blame?”

“Pinto.”

Armie froze. “Who?”

“Pinto.” He hopped off the edge of the desk and didn’t even hide the necessary adjustment to his jeans—which Armie noticed and quickly looked away from. “When I was a kid, whenever I broke something or left a mess, I’d blame Pinto. White hair. Warts on his nose.” He put his hand by his knee. “About yay high. Haven’t seen him in years, but …” He gestured to the broken vase.

Armie grinned and pulled him into a headlock. “Damn, I love you.”

Timmy took a deep breath and—

“Don’t say it yet,” Armie whispered. “Not until you’re ready. Maybe not until we figure out who tried to have me shot.”

“Are we being superstitious together then?”

“No.” He let go of Timmy long enough to pick up his suit coat and finger-brush his hair. “I don’t want you to worry. I don’t like when you worry.”

“You and me both,” he replied.

Armie slung an arm around Timmy’s shoulders and moved them toward the stairs. Timmy glanced back at the broken vase and yellow roses they needed to salvage and considered worrying it was a sign, a harbinger of busted happiness. Instead, he saw himself. Shattered pieces might surround him, but joy was beginning to blossom inside.

Armie

Armie dropped his overnight bag inside his hotel room. Well, _suite._ He’d stayed in hotels before over the course of his journalism career, obviously. Not like this. Luca had booked this room—suite—in an alpha-only high rise in the middle of the city. Ostentatious was an understatement what with the massive, canopied king-sized bed set two steps above the rest of the room. From where he stood, Armie could see the fully stocked bar to his right, the door to the bathroom on his left—including a massive bathtub—and floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off the sunset and glittering lights of the city below. And it was below. Armie was on the thirty-eighth floor. Good thing he was not afraid of heights.

He loosened his tie.

He’d begrudgingly left Timmy an hour earlier, even though the moon had yet to rise. Luca had basically dragged them apart from each other and shoved Armie into a black town car, along with two police officers—Armie’s constant shadow as the threat was ongoing. With Armie and Timmy married, Luca was technically no longer Timmy’s guardian, but he still did and probably would always see himself as such. The elder caretaker knew Armie needed to get away from Timmy before the full moon took its full effect. Armie had never lost control of his wolf, of course, but he’d also never been bonded before. Even he wasn’t sure what to expect, but he did not want to test his self-restraint, especially when Timmy was so good at breaking it down.

His little one might have been small, but he wasn’t innocent. Unlike what Armie knew of omegas, his beloved was the instigator, the aggressor, and Armie liked it. Armie never wanted to feel like he was taking advantage, and Timmy was so _delicate._ Timmy taking advantage of Armie instead was, well, sexy. Timmy was sexy, accidentally so in most cases, so it was right for Armie to be away for the full moon, at least until Timmy turned twenty in a little over a week and they could finally consummate the heat that burned them both.

After enjoying a scotch on a plush sofa, Armie called room service and ordered a rib eye, rare, with a baked potato and asparagus. The man on the phone suggested a bottle of red wine that would match perfectly, so Armie ordered that, too. He indulged, but he’d never had much money before. The entire idea that he was now rich was still foreign. Timmy had asked Armie if he wanted to quit his job, but Armie had refused. He liked his job, he liked working, and he wouldn’t depend on the Chalamet fortune. Although perhaps he would enjoy some of its perks.

The steak was, of course, impeccable, as were the rest of the meal and wine. Armie drank half the bottle before preparing a warm bath. With the full moon’s rise, his skin had started to itch. Surrounded by soft suds, his thoughts wandered to his omega.

Timmy's best friend and fellow omega Tanner would be staying the night at the Chalamet Estate. Apparently, the two omegas spent most full moons together. Both on suppressants, the moon had no affect on either of them, but it was tradition, a way to celebrate what would eventually be an important monthly occurrence for them both, Timmy much sooner than Tanner.

Armie climbed naked into bed and sighed at the heavenly feel of cool sheets. It wasn’t any fancier than his bed at the estate, but every moment of rest was like a gift lately. He read the newspaper, as was his custom. He avoided the gossip column; he’d seen his name there enough recently, and who knew what Jennings had been saying? True, he’d dropped the charges against Timmy, but that didn’t mean the jerk wasn’t spreading rumors. Even if he was innocent of murdering Timmy’s parents, the man was still a monster.

From his reclined position, Armie saw the white moon shining outside in its full glory. Not even a cloud obstructed its brilliance. Armie shook off the buzzing in his brain but couldn’t ignore the butterflies in the base of his stomach. His wolf _wanted_ —and it wanted Timmy. It howled from deep within but knew better than to claw. Armie and his animal had a good relationship, as Armie gave his wolf what it wanted. And so he would that night, as well. Basically.

He tossed the paper away and reached below the sheets. As an alpha beneath a full moon, he would be in a state of excitement for most of the night. He would take care of himself several times over the course of the moon’s reign, so the sooner he got himself off, the sooner he could rest. Until the wolf woke him again.

He took himself in hand and closed his eyes. Images of Timmy invaded the backs of his eyelids. Those pink lips, no longer chapped. The light green eyes, sometimes close to yellow, as though his wolf always lingered just below the surface. The way his hot hands felt against Armie’s bare stomach. The cooing sounds he made when they touched, although Armie was certain Timmy had no idea he made them. The rare glimpses of the pale skin of his stomach, his lower back, and the one time Armie had seen Timmy’s bare chest on the night of their bonding.

The hotel room phone startled him, its ring like a knife to the night.

“Jesus.” He took a deep breath and scooted up the bed before reaching for the receiver. “Hello?”

“My wall isn’t working.”

“Timmy?”

“I’m trying to block you, but my wall isn’t working.”

“Wh—oh.” He dragged the sheets up to his chest as if covering himself might help. “Well, I could—”

“What? Stop being an alpha during a full moon with a bonded omega at home that you’re not allowed to touch?”

Armie smiled. God, he loved this omega, who would soon be full grown. “You’re not sitting right next to poor Tanner right now, are you?”

“No. I left him asleep in my bed. I’m in your room.”

Armie leaned back against the headboard. “What are you doing in there?”

The shift of fabric. “Nothing. I just sort of fled my room when I started feeling …”

“Feeling?”

“You. You were thinking about me.”

Armie’s hand crept back beneath the covers. “I might have been.”

“You definitely were, Armie.”

He chuckled. “Who else am I supposed to think about? You’re my omega.”

“Fuck the rules. Come home.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss before.”

An unmistakable grumble.

“And no, I’m not coming home. I respect you too much.”

More shifting of fabric. “What would you do if you were here right now?”

Armie clicked his tongue. “No.”

“Come on,” Timmy begged.

Maybe if he kept things mostly innocent … “I would kiss you everywhere.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to map you out like a cartographer. Know every inch until you’re a familiar landscape. A beloved landscape.”

Armie couldn’t ignore the way Timmy’s breath shook across the line.

Beneath the sheets, Armie moved his hand slowly but with intent.

“What else?” Timmy asked.

“You are so much trouble.”

“ _Your_ trouble,” Timmy hummed. His soft voice already sounded blissed out, far away.

Armie stopped moving. “You didn’t stop taking your suppressants, did you?”

“No! I don’t need the moon to make me feel like this.”

Armie bit his lip to stop from asking—but asked anyway. “Feel like what?”

Long pause. “Like I want you here in bed.”

They were treading on dangerous ground. Or maybe not. They were married and bonded. And they weren’t in the same room; they were across the city. They weren’t touching, couldn’t see each other.

“What are you wearing right now?” Armie asked.

Timmy snorted. “I think I read that in a bad romance novel once.”

“Tell me.”

If his earlier pause was long, this one was an eternity.

“Timmy?”

“I’m not wearing anything.”

“You’re just walking around the house naked?”

“No, I … when I got to your room.”

Armie’s head slammed back against the headboard as he swallowed a groan. He stopped touching himself and just breathed through his nose.

“Armie?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips and tried to exhale as slowly as possible. “Yes.” Moonlight pouring through his window might as well have been a taunt.

“Oh. You _like_ that I’m naked in your bed.”

“And all this time, I thought you were smart.”

“Hey!” He giggled. The line crackled in the loveliest way.

“Why did you take off your clothes to get into my bed?”

Armie could practically hear his shrug. “Sometimes, during the full moon, my skin feels funny. Uncomfortable.”

“Mine is on fire right now.” The heat rose off him like steam. “It helps if you touch yourself.”

“I know,” Timmy whispered as though Luca might hear. “Are you … right now?”

“With you on the line? Yes. You should, too.”

The phone rattled. Armie assumed Timmy adjusted his position in bed. In _Armie’s_ bed. Armie was about to keep talking, but Timmy interrupted. “When you close your eyes, what do you see?”

“You. In a beautiful tailored suit.”

Timmy laughed. “What? Why?”

“Because I want to take it off you, but I’m not sure what’s underneath.”

“You’ve seen … some of me.”

“Not all of you.” Armie shivered at the thought.

“Well, I haven’t seen all of you either,” Timmy replied.

“But you’ve thought about it?”

Timmy sighed, and then gasped. “I’m thinking about it right now.”

Armie’s eyes popped open. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m doing …” He gasped again. “What you’re going to do on my birthday. To make it feel good.”

“God, Timmy—” He had to stop moving to avoid finishing too fast. Armie had expected Timmy to touch himself the way Armie did alone in his hotel room, but no. Timmy had gotten creative. Timmy had embraced the omega wolf, needy for its mate.

“You’ll make me feel good.” Timmy hummed. “Won’t you?”

Armie scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to get his bearings. His wolf hadn’t been clawing earlier; it clawed now. It wanted to race across town and attack any creature that got in its way on its journey to Timmy. He swallowed it down. “Yes, baby. I’ll make you feel so good.” 

“Armie …” He moaned.

Armie didn’t dare touch himself. He sat stock still, ear pressed to the phone, with his mouth hanging open. He wasn’t going to miss a single sound. “Keep going, Timmy. I want to hear you.”

The moaning increased in sound and pace until it diminished to the gasping breaths and choked sighs of Timmy’s building pleasure. If this was what Timmy sounded like over the phone, Armie wasn’t sure he would survive the experience in person.

Especially when Timmy gasped his name. Then, nothing but rapid breaths. A single whimper.

“I wish you were here.” Timmy’s voice shook.

“I wish I was there, too, but I can’t wait to smell you on my sheets tomorrow.”

“Mm, can I sleep here?” He sounded half conscious already.

“Yes, little one. Dream of me.”

“I hope so.”

The line cut off, but Armie remained frozen even as the ringtone tickled his ear. So this was what it was like having an omega, wanting nothing more in the world than their pleasure. This was what it was like to be in love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take an unfortunate turn ...

Timmy

Enveloped as he was in Armie’s embrace, Timmy did not appreciate being disturbed, but the disturber would not desist. He opened his eyes and prepared to growl … and realized he was not in Armie’s arms but alone in Armie’s bed, tangled in his blankets, naked. Tanner stood above him, hair askew, in pajamas, and early morning light illuminated his annoyed expression.

“Get up, you dunce!”

“Shit.” Timmy sat up but soon noticed his predicament. He pointed to the pile of fabric on the floor. “Clothes!”

Tanner scooped them up and threw them at Timmy, who quickly stepped into pajama pants and a t-shirt before fleeing the room with Tanner in tow.

In the hallway, Tanner shoved him in the shoulder. “You’re lucky Luca didn’t find you in there. He’d start locking you in your room at night.”

They scurried like mice back to Timmy’s room and snuggled up under the covers. Only then did Timmy exhale the nervous breath he’d been holding. “How did you know where I was?”

Tanner rolled onto his side to face Timmy and pushed red hair from his face. “I woke up, and you were gone. It was the full moon last night. Didn’t take much sense to know you’d want to smell your alpha.”

Timmy rubbed his eyes. “I felt him getting aroused.”

“Wait. What?”

Timmy grabbed an extra pillow, put it over his face, and groaned.

Tanner pulled the pillow away. “For real? But he was across the city.”

“Noted.”

Tanner gawked at him.

“Close your mouth. You look like a very attractive fish.” Timmy rolled onto his stomach with his face turned toward his best friend.

“You two are that connected?”

“Yes. And it’s both comforting and weird.”

“I’ll say.” Tanner fell onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “So. What? You felt him get aroused and needed to sleep in his bed?”

“I called him.”

“You—” Tanner’s face split with glee. “What’d you talk about? The weather?”

Timmy rolled his eyes.

“Wait. Wait.” Tanner sat up. “You were _naked_ in his bed. Did you have sex over the phone?”

“No.” He blushed. He could not stop the blush. “Sort of. But not really.”

“Tell me everything!”

“No! It’s private.”

Tanner poked him in the shoulder, but Timmy wasn’t changing his mind.

As unbonded omegas, they didn’t have sexual relations—at all. They were barely supposed to take themselves in hand, let alone be touched by another wolf. Timmy and Tanner had never had stories to share, but Timmy was now bonded. And he now had a story.

He understood Tanner’s request. Although knowledgeable on the mechanics, sex was still something of a mystery to unbonded omegas. They were lucky if they could sneak a dirty book, let alone hear firsthand accounts.

“Are you seriously not going to tell me what it was like? You tell me everything.”

Timmy sighed. “Maybe I want to have something that’s only mine. Well, Armie’s and mine.”

Tanner slumped and poked out his full bottom lip. “Can you at least tell me if it was good?”

“It was more than good. It was … _epoustouflant_.”

“Huh?”

“It’s French for breathtaking. English wasn’t enough.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Smiling, they both shimmied down in the covers and cuddled closer. Bodies in the shape of Cs, they rested their foreheads together. It was a comfort thing, and they’d slept like that for years.

“Do you love him?” Tanner whispered.

“He loves me.”

“Who wouldn’t love you?”

“Half the city,” Timmy replied, remembering the spewed hatred from those who still thought him guilty of double homicide.

“Forget about them. And that’s not what I asked.”

“I think I do. Love him.”

Tanner grabbed his hand and squeezed. “It’s crazy. You’ve known each other for, like, five seconds.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t love him?”

“No, that’s not it. You’re fated mates. You were going to fall in love some time. What’s crazy is how much love has changed you.”

He lifted onto one elbow so he could see his friend’s face. “Really?”

Tanner mirrored his movements. “Are you kidding? Look at you! It’s been, what? Two weeks since you met Armie, and you’re already … You’re like the Timmy of before.”

Before his bloody discovery in the kitchen.

Before he was vilified by Detective Kent.

Before he spent every day wanting to die, waiting for some faceless killer to finish the job.

“Oh,” he said.

“Why do you look sad all of a sudden?”

“Not sad. Guilty, I guess. Like I’m dishonoring them by being happy.”

“Timmy.” Tanner put his hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “You think your parents would want you grieving them forever? You think they would want you the way you’ve been the last few weeks for your whole life?”

His breath shook when he sighed. “No.”

“Then be happy with Armie. He’s bringing you back to life. Shit, I can’t wait to meet my alpha now! They’re like magicians.”

Timmy chuckled. What he’d experienced with Armie the night before had, in fact, felt magical.

Tanner’s head fell back on his pillow. “Can we sleep some more now? Roosters aren’t even awake yet.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Stop being smart and start being quiet.” He closed his eyes.

Timmy rested his cheek on his own pillow and watched his dozing friend. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke hours later remembering his dream—not nightmare. A dream of the sea. Blue water. Bright sun. And Armie. Always Armie.

Timmy poked Tanner in the ribs, and the younger omega jerked awake.

“I don’t know why I put up with you.” He pouted.

“I’m hungry.” Timmy rolled left out of bed.

“You’re what?”

He glanced over his shoulder to find Tanner staring. “Hungry.” He shrugged.

“Oh, my God, who are you and what have you done with my Timmy?”

Timmy shook his head and pulled on the nearest sweatshirt. Bedroom still a mess, convenient pieces of clothing littered the floor so Timmy could dress at a moment’s notice. It was the one room in the house Luca rarely cleaned, only when Timmy asked him to.

Together, the boys tromped downstairs in their cozy morning clothes. Already, Timmy smelled bacon from the kitchen. Cinnamon rolls, too. Dot must have been hard at work. She always showed off when the Chalamets had guests. Well, Chalamet. Timmy was the only one left.

When they turned a corner, Timmy ran right into Armie and stumbled back. He would have fallen if he hadn’t had Tanner to run into.

Timmy stared up into his alpha’s warm blue eyes—

And shriveled. A deluge of emotions attacked, ranging from lust to embarrassment to fear to comfort. How could they all exist at once?

Tanner stepped around Timmy and kept walking. “Uh, see you in the dining room. Hey, Armie.”

“Morning, Tanner,” he said, although his eyes never left Timmy’s face.

They spoke at the same time:

“I didn’t think you’d be home.”

“I just got home.”

He must have. He still had an overnight bag slung on his shoulder.

Timmy looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck, flaming hot.

The view of the floor was soon replaced by a view of Armie’s dress shoes. He took firm hold of Timmy’s chin and tilted his head up. “That’s quite a whirlwind of emotions I’m smelling,” Armie said.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Armie set his bag on the floor. “Do you regret last night?”

He thought about it, considered. “No,” he replied. “It’s just different having you here now, close enough to touch. Overwhelming.” He ran the tips of his fingers down the center of Armie’s tie. “I might be a little embarrassed, too.” He lowered his voice. “About the things I did in your bed. I can’t imagine how silly I must have sounded.”

Armie’s eyebrows shot up. _“Silly?”_

Timmy tugged on his shirt cuffs.

“Little one, look at me.”

The authority in that voice, the hidden alpha wolf, offered Timmy no choice. He looked up just as Armie leaned in. Their eyes met for but a moment before Armie’s lips trailed along Timmy’s cheekbone and ended at his ear.

“As soon as you turn twenty, I’m going to have you making those gorgeous sounds every night.”

Timmy sucked in a breath. His arms tingled with goosebumps.

“I want to be surrounded by an orchestra of those sounds,” Armie continued. “A symphony of your pleasure. I will touch your every note, my beloved. My darling boy.” He kissed Timmy’s forehead when he pulled back. “There was nothing silly about last night. Last night was the sexiest night of my life.”

Timmy smiled when Armie cupped his cheek. “Really?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Mine, too. I’m happy you’re back. I don’t like when you’re gone. Although if you being gone means we have more phone calls…”

“Trouble.”

Timmy leaned forward and rubbed his face on Armie’s shirt until Armie’s chest vibrated with silent laughter.

“Go start breakfast.” Armie guided Timmy around him with a hand on his lower back. “I’ll be there momentarily. I just need to make sure my bed hasn’t been tampered with.”

And Timmy blushed. Again. He wondered if there was a way to turn that off.

Armie winked, picked up his bag, and disappeared down the hall. Timmy watched his retreating form until it was gone. Then, he pinched the inside of his wrist to get his head on straight.

_An orchestra._

_A symphony._

Aroused as Timmy was, Tanner would know in a second and taunt him without end. Timmy took a few deep breaths and thought about Mr. Jennings until his arousal dipped to a reasonable level. He walked to the dining room but must not have done a good enough job, because Tanner started giggling as soon as Timmy walked in.

“Cut it out.” He swatted at his friend’s bright red head as he passed his chair and nabbed his cinnamon roll. He took a huge bite over the sound of Tanner’s complaining. The food didn’t turn to dust in Timmy’s mouth like usual but exploded with rich flavors and warmth.

Armie

Armie loved Timmy even more like this: blissed out in his lap, eyes closed, mouth half-open with his head leaned back. On a couch in the library, he straddled Armie’s thighs and clutched to his shoulders while Armie clung to his slim hips. Timmy had dressed up a bit for dinner that night, for Armie’s benefit, perhaps. Or perhaps Timmy was feeling more himself, more capable of self-care and confidence. Either way, Armie was pleased to be able to unbutton the top three buttons of Timmy’s crisp, black dress shirt so that he could nuzzle the center of Timmy’s hairless chest and suck his bare skin.

“Are you certain the moon doesn’t affect you?” Armie asked. Although his wolf had quieted with the sunrise, Timmy still seemed hungry. At dinner, he’d consumed the entirety of a massive pork chop, covered in butter and rosemary, along with roasted potatoes and a slice of Dot’s homemade chocolate cake. Then, as soon as they’d entered the library for their usual evening retreat, he’d pushed Armie onto a couch, climbed on top, and begged, “Kiss me.” Any shyness from that morning had disappeared, replaced by a need that had Timmy shifting ever so slightly on Armie’s lap until Armie clamped down on his hips to make him stop. “Timmy?”

“Mm?” he said to the ceiling as one of his small hands came to rest in the back of Armie’s hair.

“Did you hear my question?”

“Mm.”

Armie used his nose to shift Timmy’s shirt and bit into a slim pec.

Timmy jumped. “Ack!”

Armie smiled against his skin. “You’re not listening.”

“Wh-what?”

“I asked, are you certain the moon doesn’t affect you?”

He tilted his chin down, eyes glazed. “Yes, the moon doesn’t affect me. Suppressants are a very successful technology.”

“So last night …”

He touched his tongue to his top teeth when he grinned. “That was just you, Armie. You thinking about me.”

“I should be careful what I think.”

Timmy shook his head. “No. Don’t ever do that.”

Armie laughed. “Sage advice.” He rubbed his hands up and down Timmy’s thighs. “Speaking of suppressants. Do you want children?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Now?”

“No, not now. Someday. You’re too young to start a family right now.”

“Not everyone would agree.” Timmy shifted his hips again—which made Armie grab on and cease his movements.

“You know I’m not a traditional alpha.”

“Thank God. I thought I was very traditional until I met you. You make me think I can do more than just make babies.”

“That’s right.” He kissed Timmy’s chin. “You can do anything.”

“Hmm.” He wrapped his arms around Armie’s head and pulled him close until Armie’s ear was flat against Timmy’s chest. Over the sound of his steady heartbeat, Armie heard, “Yes, I think I want children someday. It’s just hard to imagine right now.”

“I agree.”

“I hope they’re alphas,” Timmy whispered.

Armie pulled back so he could look up at his omega. “Why?”

He shrugged. “So they’ll have a choice.”

Whatever children they eventually had would be born into high society like Timmy, which meant a newborn omega would be nothing but property—like Timmy. Every step would be chosen for them, per werewolf culture. Armie had previously thought high society an advantage. An advantage he taunted, but still. He was beginning to learn from Timmy that it was not.

“Hey,” Armie said. “If we have an omega, we can break the rules. We’re high society, right? If anyone is going to change things, it’s going to be us. Also, I wouldn’t mind if I had a kid who looked like you.”

“Small and frail?”

Armie squeezed his sides, threatening a tickle, until Timmy giggled and pushed his hands away. “You might be small, but you’re not frail.”

Timmy’s smile morphed into soft lips that kissed and kissed.

The loud click of Luca’s dress shoes approached, and Armie was certain Timmy would have ignored the sound, just kept kissing, until Armie forced them apart. Luca entered the library, but Timmy made no move to vacate Armie’s lap. Timmy’s decorum had disappeared, and Armie liked it.

Luca cleared his throat and extended a thick, brown folder. “The Chalamet Oil board has called an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning, and your presence is requested.”

Timmy’s head swerved left. “But tomorrow is Saturday.”

Luca sighed. “Yes, well, you’ll find Saturdays are nothing special in the oil business, Timothee.”

Armie took the extended file, which was snatched away by Timmy, who flipped through pages without looking up. “Why an emergency? Has something happened?”

“The stocks are plummeting,” Armie said.

“What?” Timmy squeaked.

“I read about it in the paper this afternoon," Armie continued.

“There’s uncertainty,” Luca confirmed. “Uncertainty over management and the company’s future.” Luca folded his hands behind him and went up on his toes, back on his heels. “There’s also the matter of an open murder investigation.”

Timmy slumped and fell sideways off Armie’s lap with the file still in his hand. “Why does it feel like we never get a break?”

“Because right now, you don’t,” Luca said. “Something horrible happened to you. Then, something wonderful. They don’t cancel each other out. The world keeps spinning, and you are sole heir to everything your father left, including an amorphous legacy.”

Armie blinked at him. “Are you sure you’re not a writer, Luca?”

“Quite, sir. Your police escort will be downstairs at nine AM. Unless you would prefer I accompany you.”

“Would you like to?” Armie asked.

Timmy snorted. “Luca avoided Dad’s business like the plague.”

Luca tugged on his collar. “I wasn’t aware you’d been observing.”

“I notice things,” Timmy replied. “But I’m not all-seeing like you.”

“Yes, in regards to that, I threw away your cigarettes.” He turned and left the room to the tune of Timmy’s annoyed groan.

Timmy’s legs now in Armie’s lap, he gave the boy’s ankle a squeeze. “They were bad for you anyway.”

Timmy didn’t respond. With the file hugged to his chest, he spaced out, and Armie let him. Timmy was obviously working through something in his head. After several minutes spent rubbing his legs, Armie perked up at the sound of Timmy's whispered voice.

“What if I worked at Chalamet Oil?”

Armie halted in his massage. “Would you want that?”

“I’ve never thought about it before. I never thought I could, but …” He sat up. “Why not? Why can’t I? It’s my family’s company.”

“I though you liked to cook and read.”

“I do,” Timmy replied. “But what if I could …” He scooted closer. “I could still do those things, but what if I went to college? What if I learned about business?”

“A bonded omega? They won’t let you go to college.”

Timmy grabbed his forearm. “Armie, there’s no law against it. It’s merely contrary to tradition. I would simply need your permission.”

“Which of course you have,” Armie said. “Are you sure about this?”

“No.” He bit his bottom lip. “But I think I’d like to give it a try. It’s like you said: we’re high society. Change has to start with us.” He leapt from the couch.

“Where are you going?”

He walked away and paced back to Armie. “I want to call Samuel.”

“He’ll just try to talk you out of it.”

“I won’t let him, but I can’t walk into that meeting tomorrow and …” He shook his head. “It would feel like a betrayal if I didn’t tell him about this first.”

“Okay.”

Timmy stood there, grinning.

Armie returned his glee. “Well? Go!”

Before Timmy left the room, he rushed back and gave Armie one more kiss.

The following morning, in the back of a town car, Timmy flipped through the Chalamet Oil board meeting file for the millionth time. The file included more than an agenda. Numbers covered several pages.

Timmy exhaled with force. “I should have spent more time listening to my father. This is like trying to read Sanskrit, and I need to start understanding it.”

Armie chuckled, and Timmy glared at him—but Timmy was too cute for glaring. Even irritated, he looked like a kitten in need of an ear scratch, so Armie ruffled his hair.

Timmy continued to glare even with his hair askew.

“Well, don’t look at me. I’m a writer. I barely passed math.”

Timmy hit his head back on the plush headrest.

“Timmy, relax. They’re not going to throw you out.”

“Yes, but I want to make my dad proud. I don’t want to look like an idiot right out the gate.”

“You don’t.” He squeezed Timmy’s knee and eyed his ensemble. “Trust me.”

Armie was happy Timmy had decided against wearing a suit. Timmy in a suit was beautiful but didn’t feel right. Timmy wasn’t a suit guy. Happy at home in sweatshirts and jeans, fancying him up seemed more a costume than actual clothes. He’d opted for black slacks and a black sweater with a white button down underneath. Plus, shined dress shoes. He’d spruced up his hair the same way he had for the ill-fated gala, and although Armie insisted he didn’t need it, he sported a touch of makeup—mascara and blush. Not because he had to, Timmy insisted, but because he _liked_ to.

Unlike Timmy, Armie was in full dressed up battle mode. He wore one of his new bespoke suits in charcoal gray, along with a lime green tie. Not a lock of his floppy blond hair was out of place, and he’d shaved not an hour before. He wanted to look good for Timmy, with Timmy. Timmy, who was high society and filthy rich. Timmy, who was still under scrutiny over the death of his parents. Timmy, who was practically a kid but had inherited not only money but also grief.

And Timmy, who was about to break werewolf history.

Armie would do his part to be everything Timmy needed and look damn good doing it.

Chalamet Oil owned one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, but Armie had never been inside until that morning. The lobby was all sleek, modern metal. Something out of a science fiction novel. The elevator was the same—simple and chic—all of it contrary to the soft, coziness of the Chalamet Estate. Armie supposed it had to do with business: _We are cold, streamlined, and efficient. We are intimidating._

Pretty much everything Timmy was not.

On the fiftieth floor, outside the conference room, Samuel met them in a simple black suit. He moved to hug Timmy but stopped suddenly and shook his hand instead. Unlike Armie, Samuel was an old fashioned alpha. No matter how much he cared for Timmy, the man would never hug a bonded omega in public.

He shook Armie’s hand, too. “Ready?” he asked.

“Not a bit.” Armie smiled with his lips pressed together.

Samuel made an affirmative noise. “Timmy, I’ll say again, this is madness.”

“Yeah, no, I-I know.” He gulped. “I have to try.”

“If you must.” Samuel put one hand on Timmy’s shoulder and pushed open one of the heavy double doors.

Everyone turned as they entered, a half dozen well-dressed alpha and beta werewolves. Eyes lit with either curiosity or suspicion, and no one spoke until one alpha with a large belly spread his arms wide. “Mr. Chalamet!”

“Just call me Timmy.” He’d left the mumbling kid out in the hall. He even seemed taller all of a sudden. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Samuel agreed.

Armie put his hand on Timmy’s lower back and led him to a seat at the lengthy table across from the board members as if they’d accidentally entered a courtroom and Timmy was on trial.

The rotund gentleman (“Call me Harv”) must have been the leader—or the loudest—because he was the one who started speaking about things like stocks, dividends, and margins. Armie understood none of it, and although he suspected Timmy was similarly confused, the boy watched and listened to the man with singular focus.

Armie must have spaced out while staring at Timmy’s mouth, because all of a sudden, Timmy stood. “I have something I’d like to say.” Looming above the table, his young face assumed a surprisingly imposing expression: chin held high, lips relaxed, and green eyes focused like a laser. Armie recognized this face from both the gala and the meeting with Jennings. This was Timmy with his social switch flipped. “With respect, I would like to propose I step into my father’s absence.”

All eyes widened, and no one moved. A cloud of silence settled, broken eventually by Harv’s rasping cough.

A woman with hair in a flawless bun clicked her tongue. “An _omega?”_ she taunted. “Preposterous.”

Harv recovered from his fit. “It’s just not done.”

“I’d like to change that,” Timmy said.

Harv scrambled for words. “You … you’d need your alpha’s permission.”

“Timmy has my permission and full support,” Armie replied.

Before anyone could cut him off, Timmy continued, “I wouldn’t start immediately. I would need to learn. Go to school. Go through my father’s things.”

Armie and Samuel shared a worried glance behind Timmy’s back. Timmy had yet to set foot in his father’s den—the room overrun with family portraits. That wasn’t going to be an easy day.

“I know I’m an omega,” Timmy said. “It’s unheard of for an omega to manage a massive corporation, but under the circumstances, it’s what my father would have wanted. Perhaps it’s what he expected with the way he pushed me to learn more, do more. He didn’t want me to be only a husband and father.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure he thought he had several years left. Maybe he thought that, when it came to be my time, omegas would have more power in society. But it has to start somewhere, so … I’d like it to start with me.”

Although no one laughed, the room remained in a state of shock.

Armie wanted to leap up and kiss Timmy senseless.

Reaction was restrained by the sudden, loud opening of the doors behind them. And Armie knew everything was about to go to hell.

Detective Kent, with a glint in his eye and smile on his face, stomped inside with two enormous police officers—the same silent men who’d driven Timmy and Armie to the meeting that morning. He took a huge breath and announced, “Timothee Chalamet, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.”

Timmy’s expression melted into one of horror. “What?”

Armie sprung from his seat and stood between his omega and the approaching authorities. “Bullshit.”

Kent wasn’t listening. He kept speaking over the hubbub in the room, reading Timmy his rights.

When one of the police officers moved to grab Timmy, Armie got in the way and was quickly spun and pinned face-first to the conference table. Even in his current angry state, he knew better than to invite an assault charge. But he could feel Timmy, feel the terror that raged through his bloodstream. Armie tried remaining calm, tried passing some of that calmness to his mate, but doubted he succeeded as Timmy called his name, voice choked with tears.

“Timmy,” Armie yelled. “It’s going to be all right! I’ll fix this!

“Armie!” The sound of Timmy’s voice rang from far away, and the hulking officer finally let Armie stand up straight.

When Armie spun, he stood face-to-face with the other alpha and bared his wolf teeth.

The cop just smiled and walked away.

Armie moved to pursue, but Samuel stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Armie, no. You cannot do anything right now. Let me call the family lawyer. This is just a mistake, easily rectified.”

He latched onto one of Samuel’s lapels. “I don’t trust Kent alone with Timmy. He’s had it out for him since the beginning.”

“The faster I call our lawyer, the sooner Timmy won’t be alone.” He pushed Armie’s hand away and started walking, but Armie was right on his heels.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy and Armie are separated, and bad things become horribly clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!!! Attempted Rape/Non-Con. Nothing graphic, and I promise, it's all gonna be okay!!!
> 
> I repeat: IT IS ALL GOING TO BE OKAY.
> 
> PS: You get this chapter a day early because my schedule tomorrow is insane. Love you all :)

Timmy

Timmy figured Kent had told the officers to purposely be rough with him. He wondered if it made them feel like big, strong men to push around an omega half their size. He thought to ask but also thought he might get smacked.

By the time they shoved him into a metal chair in a small room at the city precinct, Timmy’s dress shirt was mostly untucked and his handcuffed wrists were sore from being dragged around by his elbow so much.

He had no time to breathe, think, before Kent walked in whistling. The detective stood with his back leaned against the door and studied Timmy. “Have a nice ride here?”

Timmy grit his teeth. He would not give Kent the satisfaction of seeing him rattled.

Kent, in one of his usual shabby suits, slid into the chair across from him. “Let’s talk, you and me.”

“Lawyer,” Timmy said.

Kent grinned, revealing teeth stained from years of smoke. “Oh, I’m sure he’s on his way. So we don’t have much time for you to prepare your confession.”

Timmy stared at the table.

“Ignore me all you want,” Kent said. “That won’t make my new witness go away.” He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. The picture of a man without care. “See, you and your friend Tanner were out at the movies that night. The night your parents got killed. Funny thing, an employee at the theater just came forward. She says she remembers you leaving the theater before the movie was over. Huh, why would you do that?”

It wasn’t true. Timmy was being set up, but why and by whom?

Kent sighed happily. “The way I see it, you left to meet up with your secret lover. Make final plans. Maybe you even went with him to watch your parents be torn to shreds.”

The words echoed in Timmy’s head as they might in a dank, dark tunnel. Although the black sludge had yet to enter, he could feel it just outside the door.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Kent continued. “I have your little friend Tanner in the next room over. I’m sure he’ll talk if I threaten him with accessory to murder.”

Timmy’s head shot up. “He has nothing to do with this.”

Kent snapped his fingers. “Oh, so you do have a voice.”

“Let him go.”

“Yeah, so he won’t give up your secrets? Right. Does he know how you tried to have Armie killed, too? You tried to get out before you were bonded, but …” His gaze traveled to the bite mark on Timmy’s neck, which Timmy covered quickly. Although he usually wore his bonding mark with pride, Kent made those teeth marks seem lewd. “You can’t kill Armie now, or you might die, too. What does your secret lover think of that?”

Timmy bit back any words he might have spat.

“Know what you need? Some time in our holding cell.” Kent stood, circled the table, and—like the cruel officers from earlier—lifted Timmy roughly with a hand around his elbow.

Timmy pressed his lips together to keep from shouting.

Kent dragged him on the tips of his toes down a hallway crowded with cops who eyed Timmy as he passed. “Don’t worry. We have an omega-specific cell. Don’t want to find out what some alphas in the drunk tank might do with a little shit like you.”

Through a large, metal door, Kent revealed Timmy’s prison cell, empty but directly next to a cell teeming with alpha and beta wolves. Still handcuffed, Timmy stumble-stepped to keep from falling when Kent shoved him inside. He slammed the bars and turned the lock. Timmy spun around just in time to see the detective salute—“Have fun, Chalamet”—and leave.

Timmy made for the cot in the back corner, furthest from the drunk tank. He hoped it was shadowy enough back there for him to not attract attention, but it was too late. All the other occupants of the small holding area had seen Timmy, maybe even smelled him. He curled into the tiniest ball possible and buried his face in his knees, but that didn’t stop the voices.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Come over here and open your mouth.”

“Prime piece. I would rip you in two.”

The taunting continued, growing more explicit by the moment.

Timmy stared straight ahead and watched the black sludge pounding in ever-growing waves against the outside of his cell. Timmy was too angry to let it in. Instead of sorrow, rage filled him.

Armie.

Oh, God, Armie was probably frantic. He wished he could reach out and hold his alpha, soothe him, but that was impossible. He did the next best thing. Like earlier, he covered his bonding mark with his hand. Instead of trying to defend it, though, he tried to communicate. He blocked out the revolting catcalls and focused on the positive images he’d collected. After a few minutes of that, he though of one thing and one thing alone: _I love you, I love you_ , over and over again.

Armie

Samuel was breaking every traffic law in history when the back of Armie’s neck tingled. Panicked a moment earlier, calmness overtook him. He gasped. “Timmy.”

“What?” Samuel didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“I think he’s trying to calm me down.” He chuckled once, despite the circumstance.

“You’re that closely connected?”

Armie rubbed his forehead. “A blessing and a curse. We’ve been trying to control it, build ‘walls,’ but I don’t know if we’re doing a good job. It’s mostly to protect me from the black sludge.”

“Black sludge?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. That and Timmy’s nightmares, which are only going to get worse after this debacle.”

Samuel sighed and swerved between two slow-moving cars. “There’s whiskey in the glove compartment if that’s of any service.”

“Fuck, yes.” He pulled out a silver flask and drank heavily. “The lawyer will be there when we arrive?”

Samuel slammed on the brakes when they turned down a street and right into stopped traffic. “Damn. Yes. If we ever arrive.” He turned around in his seat and started reversing the car. Ignoring angry beeps and shouts, he turned down an empty side street.

“Know a short cut?”

Samuel didn’t reply.

Armie screwed the top back on the whiskey and returned it to the glove box. “What the hell kind of witness is Kent talking about anyway? A witness that shows up almost a month late?”

“A girl at the movie theater claims she saw Timmy leave early.”

Armie was about to retort—but stopped. “How do you know that?”

“I’m sorry about all this,” Samuel said. “You seem like a good, decent alpha.”

“Wh …” Armie’s head felt heavy all of a sudden. His vision was dimming around the edges, so he hardly noticed when Samuel’s car came to a stop.

“I had to get Timmy away from you, but it’s been impossible. Don’t worry, though. I paid the young witness very well. She will admit she was mistaken about seeing Timmy tomorrow, and by then, everything will be fixed.”

“Samuel …” Armie tried reaching his hand out to latch onto the man, but his hand was now lead.

The last thing he remembered was Samuel saying, “He should have been mine,” and the feel of damp, cold pavement beneath him.

Armie couldn’t be sure how long he remained unconscious, but when he woke, the sun’s angle revealed it had to be early to mid afternoon. He cussed and rolled onto his stomach. It took two tries, like a turtle trapped on its back, but Armie eventually managed to get up onto his hands and knees in the alley.

He shook his head to clear it—and stopped. He cussed some more. The world spun, and pain shot across his forehead. He’d been drugged. Samuel had drugged him, but to what end? What had he been talking about? He’d been talking about …

_He should have been mine._

Timmy.

“Oh, God.” Armie forced himself to stand, no matter the disorientation or pain. He had to get to Timmy. He stumbled from the alley and onto the street, searching for indicators of his location. It didn’t take long for his muddled brain to recognize street names, and miraculously, he was mere blocks from the police precinct. He could only hope Timmy was still there, something he never would have wished hours ago.

He walked—stumbled—and ran into people as he went. They probably assumed him drunk, but Armie was too big to trifle with. His tongue was like a dried sponge by the time he made it up the front steps of the police station and through the front door.

Detective Kent stood in his shirtsleeves, suspenders, and slacks talking to another officer but looked up when Armie tumbled in. He crossed his arms and frowned. “Did you come here to gloat?”

“What?”

“The witness against Timmy is starting to sound unreliable.”

He grabbed Kent by the shoulders. “Timmy. Where’s Timmy?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, but I’ve been drugged.”

Kent’s face twisted in disbelief. “Heh?”

“Where is Timmy?”

“Samuel Evans took him. Said he was taking him home to you.”

Armie’s knees almost went out, but he had to stay strong, stay focused. “Samuel is the person who drugged me. I don’t know exactly what he’s done, but I know he paid your new witness to come forward. What if …” He widened his eyes, imploring the detective to make a horrible leap.

“What if he murdered Joe and Nancy Chalamet?”

“And now, he has Timmy.”

Kent’s jaw clenched so hard, it looked like he might shatter a tooth. “Fucking hell.” He turned away from Armie and started yelling. “Get me Samuel Evans’s home address, _now!”_

Timmy

As Timmy slowly surfaced, he couldn’t remember having slept so deeply in weeks. He took a slow breath in, and although waking, he felt he could have slept more. His body was heavy with exhaustion, his mind fuzzy from unconsciousness. He opened his eyes to a room he didn’t recognize: a huge, sprawling room that overlooked a sunlit city far below. All the décor was gaudy, old fashioned, and over-the-top fancy, including the canopy bed on which he lay, swaddled in red velvet. Only when he moved to sit up did he notice his hands were bound to the bed above him and he wore not a stitch of clothing beneath the so-soft sheets.

Upon movement to his right, Timmy startled.

“Samuel? Thank God!” He pulled on the ropes. “Help me!”

Samuel stepped forward at his call, wearing the same suit as that morning’s board meeting but now dismantled and down to only a dress shirt and slacks.

“Hurry, untie me please.”

Samuel sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Timmy’s hands—but he didn’t untie the ropes. He caressed Timmy’s skin with his fingertips. “I can’t believe that monster handcuffed you. You should see the bruises on your wrists.”

“Samuel, please.” His voice broke as the tears came. His final “please” was barely a word, more an exhale, because Timmy was beginning to realize Samuel was not there to rescue him. Samuel was the guilty party.

Timmy remembered a disgruntled Kent letting him out of the prison cell. The family lawyer had been there, along with Tanner and Samuel, too. Tanner’s parents had taken him home, and Samuel had said Armie was waiting at the estate _: I didn’t want Armie here. He was too angry._ He remembered getting into Samuel’s car, Samuel offering him some whiskey to sooth his nerves, and then … nothing.

He’d been drugged. That’s why he still felt so groggy, confused. Trapped. Helpless. A single sob escaped him as he tugged at the soft but strong ropes that would not let go.

Samuel held his forearms still. “Don’t fight, Timmy. It’s going to be okay.”

“No.” His hair brushed against the pillow behind him as he shook his head. “No, wh-what are you doing? Why are we here? Just let me go. Please.”

Timmy tried to recoil when Samuel reached for his face and wiped the tears from his eyes but couldn’t get two inches away from his captor.

“Shhh,” Samuel whispered while carding his fingers through Timmy’s hair. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We’re just righting a wrong.”

Timmy started screaming. He had no other recourse. He shouted for help, but it was for naught as Samuel’s hand covered his mouth. Timmy felt crushed beneath the large alpha’s weight and struggled to stay calm enough to breathe through his nose.

“I didn’t want to make this hard on you,” Samuel said. He left the bed long enough for Timmy to get out one more gasping shout before he returned with his tie.

Timmy tried turning his head away, shifting, but it was no use. Less than a minute later, he was gagged. The fabric caught his muffled screams.

Samuel held him by the chin and forced Timmy to look at him. “Please understand, I need you to be mine, Timmy. It’s how it should have always been, and I will ensure it happens. Fated mates or not, your marriage to Armie will be legally void if you are found to be carrying another alpha’s offspring. As you are not yet twenty and you and Armie have not consummated, I will be that alpha, and you will become my omega.”

Although panic surged through him, Timmy needed to think of something—quick.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation, rescue, and recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!! Attempted Rape / Non-Con, but like I mentioned in the last chapter, nothing graphic, and Timmy is gonna be okay.
> 
> In regards to the last chapter, oops, sorry about that cliffhanger. This chapter is a bit longer, though, as a reward!! Thanks for sticking with me.

Armie

Armie thought it fruitless to check Samuel’s own residence for Timmy. The man might have been crazy, but he was not stupid. Still, it was the only lead they had, so Armie sat in the front seat of Kent’s car and tried not to puke.

“You said Samuel Evans was innocent,” Armie said.

“I said he had no reason to murder the Chalamets.”

“Did you check his alibi?”

Kent swerved through traffic, and Armie flashed back to his earlier, ill-fated car ride with Samuel.

“He was home alone,” Kent replied. “But, like I said, there was—and still is—no reason for him to have killed Nancy and Joe.”

“There must be some reason! Unless you seriously think him abducting Timmy is unrelated.”

His crooked fedora hid his eyes as he said, “Unless Samuel is the secret lover I’ve been looking for.”

Armie slammed his fist into the dashboard to avoid breaking the detective’s jaw. “You can’t still think that about Timmy! You—”

“No, I don’t!” he roared. He dropped his chin and glared at the road. “I don’t suppose I ever did, but when something horrible like this happens, and you have nothing … It was easier to think he’d done it. So simple. A bad seed having his parents killed was easier than thinking there was a faceless monster wandering our streets with no motive but carnage. It’s the faceless ones that haunt you, Armie—the ones that make no sense, the ones that get away.”

“So you made Timmy’s face the face of a killer.”

His lips titled into an ironic smile. “Hey, in this world, anyone can become a killer in the right circumstances. Just need a trigger. We’re all monsters deep down, but we build walls to hide it.”

“Walls.”

“What about ‘em?”

Armie closed his eyes. “Timmy and I had to build mental walls to protect each other from our emotions. Our connection is too much, too dangerous, so it’s a way to train our brains. It works.” He thought of the full moon. “Mostly. I need to take my wall down. He reached me earlier; maybe I can reach him.”

Kent’s radio crackled before he picked up.

A nearby team of officers had beaten them to Samuel’s residence, and a far-off voice informed them the place was empty, as Armie had expected.

Kent cussed several times before slamming the radio back in place.

Armie ignored him and whispered, “Come on, little one, talk to me.”

Timmy

Sobbing with the gag in made it hard to breathe, so Timmy fought to compose himself, even as Samuel’s hands stroked his bare chest. The older alpha murmured encouragements about Timmy’s beauty, how sweet it felt to touch him. Timmy tried not to be sick. The gag would ensure he choked to death if that happened.

_Think._

As Samuel leaned down and kissed the side of his neck opposite his bonding mark, Timmy scoured the room for evidence of his location. He could have been in any fancy hotel in the city, and Timmy was no expert. He’d never had any reason to frequent hotels. The panic mixed with the sedatives in his system made it even harder to focus on details that might help.

His stomach lurched when Samuel’s hand ran down the side of his ribs and latched onto his hip. “You feel so good, Timothee,” he whispered.

Although Timmy trembled in disgust, he kept his wits enough to continue studying the room. At least Samuel was still clothed. At least the sheets still covered most of Timmy’s nakedness. At least he still had one bit of information that would destroy Samuel’s plans—although that information could also get Timmy killed.

Fact was, Timmy was still on suppressants. He could not be impregnated. While his gaze searched the large room for some image to send Armie, his mind also battled with that dilemma. If he told Samuel about the suppressants, Samuel might fly into a rage and kill him. If Timmy did not tell Samuel about the suppressants, he would get raped but would give Armie more time to find him and save his life, if nothing else.

Samuel’s hands continued mapping Timmy’s body. “Don’t be nervous, my darling. I’m going to prepare you for me. I would never hurt you.”

Across the room on the desk, was that ….? A pad of paper with red letters.

Timmy lifted his head to see better, and Samuel was too distracted licking his chest to notice. He made out the letter B.

_B with red letters._

_B with red letters._

Timmy knew the city signage well enough. He just needed to _think._

He squeezed his eyes shut and scoured his brain for any memory, any thought, that might help. Walking with his parents to the park. Getting coffee with his mother. The few times he’d gone to work with Dad.

_Belvedere._

That was where he was. Timmy was at the Belvedere Hotel on a higher floor in what looked to be a penthouse. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and hurled his thoughts into the void, hoping Armie would catch them.

Armie

Standing in front of Samuel Evan’s empty estate, Kent barked orders as Armie paced. Photos of Samuel and Timmy were about to be spread to cops and citizens, citywide. It was their only recourse. And it made Armie crazy.

They were running out of time. Something bad was happening to Timmy, he knew, and there was no damn time.

With his imaginary wall torn down, Armie listened for anything from Timmy, even a feeling, but maybe they were too far apart. Maybe Timmy was unconscious. Maybe—

He stumbled backwards into a brick wall and roared when lightning struck his brain. He knew Kent was in front of him, holding him up, but Armie saw nothing but a lush hotel room, a view high above the city, and Samuel, much too close. Then, red letters. Red letters that flashed violently like punches to his gut.

When he could breathe again, Armie gasped, “Belvedere. They’re at the Belvedere Hotel.”

Timmy

Timmy had done all he could to communicate with his alpha. Now, it was time to make a decision. Could he let this happen, let Samuel have him if it saved his life?

“Everyone already thinks you have a secret lover,” Samuel murmured with his mouth against the side of Timmy’s neck. His fingers grazed the base of Timmy’s abdomen. “Why not it be me?”

He though of Armie—the way Armie touched him with such reverence and respect. The way Armie loved him. He couldn’t let Samuel have what Armie deserved, what Timmy wanted to give Armie. It was time to tell the truth. And hopefully not die.

He spoke through the gag. Although nonsensical, he hoped he sounded calm, at least. He needed Samuel to remove the gag, but there was no way he would if he thought Timmy was in a state of horrified panic. Even if he was, Timmy formed quiet words, muffled by Samuel’s tie and hoped, hoped …

Samuel leaned back and ran his thumb across Timmy’s bottom lip. “Do you want me to remove the gag?”

Timmy nodded.

“If you scream, I’ll sedate you again, and I had so hoped we could enjoy this together.”

Timmy couldn’t stop the tears filling his eyes.

“All right.” Samuel untied the knot at the back of Timmy’s head and tossed it away. “This is better anyway. I have always wanted to kiss you.”

Samuel leaned down just as Timmy said, “I’m on suppressants.”

Samuel smiled. “No, darling. You’re a high society bonded omega. It’s tradition that you stop taking suppressants as soon as you are married.”

Timmy shook his head. “Armie and I aren’t traditional. We don’t want kids yet. We’ve agreed.” His breath quivered on the inhale as he awaited his fate.

“No,” Samuel said, and then louder, “No!” He stood up and shoved his hands in his hair. He turned away from Timmy and back again. “You’re lying. You’re—”

“I’m not lying. For whatever reason you want to take me from Armie, it’s not going to work.”

_“Whatever reason?”_

Timmy pulled at the ropes above his head, but they would not loosen.

“Whatever reason! You were _meant_ to be mine!”

Someone had to hear the shouting. Someone had to come.

“No matter,” Samuel said. “No matter. I’ll still be your lover. It will cause a scandal. Armie will not want you anymore. You’ll still be mine. Everything will be fine. Yes.” He tore the blankets from Timmy’s body and shoved Timmy’s legs apart before kneeling between them.

Timmy sobbed loud and hard at the feel of Samuel’s weight on him, his rough hands on his thighs. “If you’re my lover, they’ll think you did it. They’ll think you killed my parents!”

“I did kill them!”

Timmy stopped fighting. He though his heart stopped beating. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to.” He hovered over Timmy, but the glazed look in his eyes portended his mind left the room. “I only went over that night to ask permission to court you. That had always been my intention. But your father had found out. Found out I’d been stealing from the company. It wasn’t much. Just a little extra. And it was so easy. Everyone always trusts the numbers guy.” He pet Timmy’s hair absentmindedly but still didn’t look at him. “I couldn’t lose everything: you, my money, my freedom. I don’t even remember killing them. I just looked down, and it was done. My wolf had escaped. I had no control.” Now, he looked at Timmy—Timmy whose entire body trembled with fear and rage. “You can understand that, right?”

“Please let me go.”

Samuel tilted his head and stared. “I needed to get full control of the company, keep the board from digging around. I thought I could do that if I married you. Make you my second in command. Window dressing since omegas know nothing of business. My secret would be safe. But then, you found Armie. He had to be eliminated. When that didn’t work, I realized I had to continue fighting for full control of Chalamet Oil without you by my side.” He looked down at Timmy. “And then you called last night to tell me you wanted to step into your father’s absence, go through his things. There had to be a record of his discovery somewhere, and I knew you would find it. You’re too smart for your own good. So I set you up, made you look guilty, if only for a moment, to get you away from Armie and bring you here. But now …” His shoulders slumped when he frowned. He climbed off the bed and walked to a small table where his suit coat lay. “Why did you force my hand, Timmy? Why couldn’t you just let us be happy?” When he turned around with a gun in his hand, Timmy didn’t thrash or scream. There seemed no point. Samuel sat on the edge of the bed by Timmy’s naked hip. He settled his free hand on Timmy’s concave stomach. “I’ll shoot you right in the head. You won’t have time to hurt.”

“You don’t have to.”

Samuel sighed. “I should have known when you found your fated mate that we would end like this. I should have known I’d lost. Now, I’ll kill you and, in so doing, probably Armie, as well, and then myself. Then, it’ll be over.”

Timmy had not noticed, but the familiar black sludge had morphed into a cloud that now filled the room like smoke. It swirled around Samuel’s slumped shoulders. Fingers of black smoke clawed at the edges of his face.

Samuel pressed the barrel of the gun to Timmy’s forehead, and Timmy closed his eyes. He would miss many things: Luca’s wonderful nagging, Dot’s delicious food, laughs with Tanner, unread books in the library, and the estate gardens in spring. He would miss Armie the most. Timmy didn’t want Armie—his Armie—to die, but if he did, Timmy supposed they might see each other again somewhere, someday. Maybe his parents would be there, too.

Timmy waited for the end to come. When it didn’t, he opened his eyes. Tears painted Samuel’s face. He pulled the gun away from Timmy’s forehead and rested it in his lap. “I admit, your father haunts my dreams. I suppose they’re nightmares. You would know about that. I swear I see your mother sometimes, too, lingering at the end of long hallways. I killed them, Timmy. I killed my best friends.” He stared at the gun in his lap. “If I could do that, I thought I could do anything. Have Armie killed. Make you mine. Run the company by myself so no one would learn of my crimes. Happily ever after.” He lifted the gun to his own head. “I was wrong.”

Before Timmy could shout his name, tell him to stop, the door crashed open. The lock shattered, and pieces of wood tumbled to the carpet. It was enough of a distraction for Timmy to lift his legs and kick the gun out of Samuel’s hand. A flurry of movement and shouting voices followed, but Timmy only saw Armie.

Armie pushing cops out of the way to reach Timmy.

Armie stepping past the police who pinned Samuel to the floor.

Armie, who pulled the covers over Timmy’s body with tears in his eyes.

Timmy watched in silence as Armie tried untying the rope that bound him to the bed, but Armie’s fingers trembled too much. He ultimately gave up and cupped the back of Timmy’s head in his hand. He buried his face against the side of Timmy’s neck and sobbed. His grief soon morphed into the howl of an injured wolf. His howls shook the bed.

Armie

In the hallway outside the Belvedere Hotel suite, Armie and Timmy sat on the floor, their backs against the wall with knees pulled up so they wouldn’t be stepped on by the constant parade of police coming in and out. Armie had his arm around Timmy; Timmy’s forehead was glued to Armie’s shoulder.

Earlier, after an officer had cut Timmy free, Armie had carried his omega, wrapped in a sheet, to the bathroom, and dressed him in the black slacks and sweater he’d been wearing that morning—clothing carefully draped across a chair as though Samuel had so much respect for Timmy’s things when he’d already done such damage.

Once dressed, Timmy had tilted his chin up at Armie and asked, “Can we go please?”

They couldn’t, not yet, but they could exit the hotel room, at least, which was why they sat huddled together on the floor in the hall.

Armie tightened his grip on Timmy and kissed the side of his head. He squeezed him in a side hug and ran his hand up and down the outside of Timmy’s right arm. He blinked away tears—again. Armie had been crying off and on ever since bursting into the hotel room to find his omega naked and tied to a bed with a gun nearby. Armie feared he would now be the one having nightmares.

Timmy hummed and rubbed his face back and forth against Armie’s shoulder. When he looked down, Timmy’s eyes were closed. Although their mental walls were down, Armie felt an absence of emotion from his omega. Armie wondered what feelings he sent Timmy, if perhaps Timmy was trying to comfort _him_ due to the residual terror that still made his throat close up, his breath hitch.

Additional shoes attached to legs passed this way and that until one pair stopped. Armie tilted his head back, and Detective Kent stood above them. Armie shook Timmy just a little to get the boy to open his eyes.

“He’s admitted to everything,” Kent said. The man always looked like shit, but if possible, in that moment, he looked even worse. His perpetually suspicious, squinting eyes darted from Armie to Timmy. “I’m sorry about …” He removed his hat and squeezed it in his hands. “No hard feelings?”

“Fuck you,” Timmy replied.

Kent nodded. “I’ll have an officer take you home.” He left them alone in their burrow.

“So you heard me then?” Timmy asked. He’d said no more than four words since his rescue. Armie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the sound of his voice.

“Heard you? You almost knocked me on my ass.”

“Maybe we should never have walls between us.”

He rested his chin on Timmy’s head. The tips of Timmy’s hair tickled Armie’s lips when he spoke. “What about the black sludge?”

“It’s a cloud now,” he replied. “It’s not as heavy.”

And Armie started crying again.

Timmy didn’t speak again until they were home safely, standing in the Chalamet Estate foyer. After Luca sprinted at them and wrapped Timmy in a hug, he said, “I’m okay.” He then took Armie’s hand and pulled him upstairs. He still didn’t speak as he guided Armie to the large shower in Timmy’s bathroom. Timmy peeled off his clothes. He said, “Help me,” before stepping under a steaming spray.

Armie removed his clothes—stinking of stress sweat—and stepped into the steam behind his omega. Timmy stood facing away, water running down through his hair and over his bare back. When he made no move to reach for soap, Armie did. He worked up lather and used his soapy hands to massage Timmy’s neck, shoulders, and back. Timmy’s head drooped forward at the attentions.

Armie cleaned his whole body. Despite this being the first time they’d been naked together, nothing sexual stirred. This was caretaking. He thought to heal Timmy with his hands. Even if it was only a wish, he put conscious thought into the intention, and over time, Timmy sounded like he breathed easier.

Armie rinsed his beloved’s body carefully but wasn’t finished. He reached for the shampoo and rubbed soap into Timmy’s scalp. He worked his fingers deeply into the wet strands until drawing a moan from Timmy. Then, he rinsed him again, washing the events of the day down the drain.

Armie turned off the water. Timmy was a statue, so Armie buffed his body with a luxurious towel. With Timmy’s small hand captured safely in his, Armie drew his omega into the bedroom and dressed him in his usual oversized pajamas. Armie didn’t want to leave him, so he nabbed an additional pair of Timmy’s pajama pants and pulled them on. They were snug and too short, which made Timmy smile, but amusement was fleeting. As quickly as the smile appeared, it was gone.

When Armie tried guiding Timmy to bed, he pushed his hands away and walked for the bedroom door. Armie followed him into the hall and followed him some more until they ended up at the closed door to Timmy’s father’s den.

Armie snatched his hand when Timmy reached for the knob. “Are you sure?”

Timmy nibbled his bottom lip but eventually nodded. He stepped inside the pitch-black room with Armie right on his heels.

Although having not visited since his parents’ death, Timmy must have been familiar with the room. Despite the darkness, he knew the closest lamp and switched it on, illuminating the painted portrait of Joe Chalamet, leaned against the threadbare couch Armie had noticed upon his only visit to this section of the house. It was even dustier now than it had been then, so Armie’s assumption that not even Luca set foot here was confirmed.

Timmy paused. Armie stood by, waiting to catch him if he fell, but Timmy moved forward instead. He picked up the photo Armie had himself picked up a week ago: the one of Timmy and his parents at the beach. The picture of a laughing, healthy Timmy that Armie did not recognize.

Timmy spoke to the photo, his back partially turned to Armie. “Luca said he brought you here one night.”

“He did.”

“Why did you cry?” Timmy asked.

So Luca had told him everything then. Armie tried to remember that night, tried to remember what had tipped him from put together to pieces. “I was mourning the things that had been taken from you.”

“They’ll always be gone. I suppose I’m glad to know why.” He put the photo down. “But I’m still here. I need to start acting like it.”

“Timmy—”

“I wouldn’t have lasted, you know. If I hadn’t found you. I would have married some alpha as a business decision. The black sludge would have gotten thicker and heavier and …” He shrugged. “I would have made someone very rich.”

Despite the thought of Timmy being gone—dead—turning Armie’s ankles to jelly, he made it the few steps across the room, close enough to touch his omega, his husband. Just a hand on his arm, but it was enough. “I won’t ever let the black sludge smother you.”

A tiny smile. “I won’t either. But I think I’m going to have a meltdown now. Is that okay?”

Armie couldn’t help but laugh at the forewarning. “Yeah.” He collected Timmy into his arms and held on as his fragile body quivered with silent sobs. The steady stream of his tears poured like a scalding waterfall down Armie’s bare chest. The crying would subside eventually, but for that moment, Armie allowed Timmy to fall apart, confident he could put him back together again.

Later, Armie fell asleep wrapped around Timmy in Timmy’s bed so was justifiably disappointed to wake up the next morning—alone. He rolled onto his back. Morning sun informed the day was well under way.

“Timmy?”

No response.

Armie went to his room to change into his own pajamas before going on a search. It didn’t take long. Luca waited at the base of the staircase with a covered plate balanced in his hand. “Library,” he said before handing the plate to Armie and turning back toward the kitchen.

As he approached the open doors to Timmy’s favorite room in the house, he heard Timmy’s voice: “No, you don’t understand. They don’t have to be omega-specific classes.”

Armie turned the corner to find Timmy sitting cross-legged in a chair at a desk, his short hair up in points, presumably not from sleep but from irritated tugging. As proof, Timmy dragged a hand through his hair. With the phone to his ear, he slumped and leaned his elbow on the desk.

“I realize it’s not the norm, but who wants to be normal anyway?” He didn’t wait for a response. He slammed the phone onto the receiver, buried his face in his hands, and groaned.

“Morning,” Armie said to keep from startling him.

Timmy groaned again but sat up straight when he smelled bacon.

Armie set the plate on the desk. With Timmy still in the chair, he dragged it backwards and lifted Timmy bridal style before planting his own ass in the seat and draping Timmy across his lap. Armie kissed under his jaw. “I don’t particularly like waking up in your bed without you.”

“Sorry.” Timmy rubbed his nose. “Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You never bother me.” He lifted the silver cover from the plate and reached for a piece of melon, which he fed Timmy before helping himself to a morsel, as well.

Timmy shifted and shimmied until he apparently found the perfect pose and melted his full weight across Armie. When Armie picked up a piece of bacon, Timmy opened his mouth, waiting, until Armie fed him.

“What are you up to, little one?”

“Calling colleges and universities in the city. Why don’t you have coffee?” he whined.

“Based on your demeanor, I assume the calls are going well.”

“They all think it’s so strange that a bonded omega would want an education.”

“You can’t be the first one.” Armie held up a piece of buttered toast, and Timmy took a huge bite.

“I wouldn’t think so,” he said between chews. “But it seems that way.”

Armie wrapped his arms around Timmy’s waist. “If I have to sit through every boring business class with you, I’ll do it, as long as you can pursue this.”

Timmy tilted his head back so he could gift Armie with two tiny kisses. He rested his forehead against the side of Armie’s chin. “I’m sorry I left you in bed. When I woke up, the silence … My brain was too loud. I—”

“Don’t apologize. I’d rather you feel too much than nothing at all.”

Timmy was silent for several moments. “You’re right. Me, too.”

_Click-clack-click-clack._

“Luca,” they said at the same time.

The sound of his fancy dress shoes stopped in the doorway. “Ms. Elle Manning is here to see you both. Is this an acceptable time?”

Timmy messed up Armie’s hair as he stood. “Yes.”

Armie joined him to greet his boss, dressed, as always, in less than fashionable business attire. Her hair was a curly mess and coat buttoned incorrectly, but the familiarity of Elle’s appearance came as a comfort. It was nice to have a hint of normalcy after the past couple days.

When she reached out her hand, Timmy took it. The arm of his sweatshirt rode up revealing purple bruises on his wrists.

“Shit.” Elle kept a grip on Timmy’s hand and pushed the fabric further up his arm.

Armie’s chest tightened, remembering the sight of Timmy bound to an unfamiliar bed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I should have—”

“It’s fine.” Timmy dragged his hand away from Elle’s and tugged his sleeves down to cover his hands. “I’ll heal.”

“Yes, you will.” She nodded. “Armie.”

“Elle.”

“Surprised you remember who I am considering how absent you’ve been from the office.”

“I had some more pressing issues.”

She tried to look fierce but failed. Armie could tell she wasn’t pissed but pleased to see him—and Timmy, too. Her smirk gave away her fondness.

“Luca, would you give us some privacy please?” Timmy asked, and Luca bowed before disappearing. “Let’s sit.” He gestured to the nearest furniture.

Armie preened at Timmy’s hosting skills. He’d once said he never expected to be as socially graceful as his mother; he’d been wrong.

Timmy and Armie sat as close as possible on the couch without Timmy in Armie’s lap, while Elle sat across from them. She folded her hands on her knee. “You realize there are over a dozen reporters on your front steps.”

“What?” Armie moved to look out the window, but Timmy put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“I know,” Timmy said. “I don’t have anything to say to them.”

“Good boy.” Elle winked.

“So I guess you’re not here to get a quote from me,” Timmy said.

“No.” Her gaze went back and forth between the two men. “Samuel Evans killed himself in his jail cell last night.”

Armie should have felt relief, perhaps even jubilation. The murderer who’d almost destroyed Timmy was now dead. Rejoice! But, no, Armie didn’t feel like dancing. Maybe his emotions were too exhausted. Maybe he needed his morning coffee. Or maybe the loss of Samuel’s life was like the last page in a book. Story over. Book closed and put back on the shelf.

What book would they read next?

Timmy stood and did exactly what Armie had almost done moments before. He walked to the wide windows and looked out. “It’s what he wanted,” Timmy said. “I felt bad for him in the end.”

Before Armie could dispute, Elle leaned forward in her chair. “How could you possibly feel bad for that monster?”

His back still to them, Timmy lifted and lowered one shoulder. “He slaughtered the two people he loved the most and went mad because of it. He wasn’t Samuel anymore. He killed himself when he killed them.”

Armie and Elle looked at each other. Armie doubted he could be so understanding of a person who murdered his parents, but he wasn’t Timmy. Timmy was gentleness and patience and … joy. The boy’s joy was coming back; with their walls down, Armie could feel the light beginning to shine from his omega.

Elle broke the silence. “Know what, kid? You sure have a way with words. You should run for office.”

Timmy laughed and turned to face them. “Actually, I’m taking over Chalamet Oil.”

It was hard to shock Elle Manning, so Armie memorized the wide-eyed look on her face for the next time she was angry with him and he needed a laugh. Her gaze swung to Armie. “Of course he is.”

Armie nodded. “Of course he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next ... Timmy's birthday. All the sweet, smutty goodness :)
> 
> One chapter to go, and this story is finished. I'll post the big finale on Friday. Love to you all xoxo


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEXY TIMES!!!!!! And the big happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the last chapter. Even I'm shocked haha! I have so enjoyed writing this story, though. I hope you've enjoyed reading it. 
> 
> Due to your amazing comments and enthusiasm, I believe I'll publish this as original fiction in the early fall of 2021. I wasn't sure if this tiny tale was good enough, but you've made me believe it just might be. Thank you for that. 
> 
> Thank you, all of you, for helping me believe in myself and my work. Thanks for keeping my "black sludge" away. Just ... thank you. Lots of love. Now, enjoy Timmy's birthday, would you?

Timmy

On the balcony outside Armie’s room, Timmy watched fireworks explode above the estate. It was a joke. His official birthday party wasn’t until the following evening, but Luca and Dot had insisted a midnight show the second he turned twenty—finally a mature, legal, fully-grown wolf.

With all the benefits that came with.

He grinned up at the flashing reds, greens, blues, and golds. He didn’t have to turn to know Armie was behind him. Then, Armie’s arms were around his waist, Armie’s mouth on his neck.

“Happy birthday,” Armie whispered.

“You’ve been waiting to say that for weeks.”

Timmy felt more than heard Armie’s chuckle, what with the continued explosions in the sky. “Are you ready?”

“Am _I_ ready? You’re the one who’s been dragging his feet.”

“Dragging my …” He spun Timmy around and lifted him into the air and over his shoulder.

Timmy giggled and smacked at Armie’s lower back as he was carried into the bedroom and tossed onto the bed. Armie knelt between Timmy’s legs a moment later, leaned down, and kissed the smile off his face.

Armie

Timmy tasted like the champagne they’d shared earlier, a precursor to this.

_This._

Armie was never nervous in bed, so imagine his surprise to be absolutely terrified.

Timmy pressed on Armie’s collarbone to get him to stop kissing. “What’s wrong with you?”

Armie used his superior strength to ignore Timmy’s shoving and kissed his nose. “I’m hoping you have many, many years to figure that out.”

Timmy turned his face away when Armie tried reaching his mouth. “Why are you scared?”

Armie deflated. He liked being connected to Timmy, but sometimes, the fated mates thing was more hindrance than help. He flopped onto his back at Timmy’s side. “I want our first time to be perfect, but nothing is perfect, so I’m overthinking and doubting myself.”

Timmy leaned up on one elbow and poked Armie in the side. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve never done this before, so if you screw something up, I won’t know.”

Armie snorted. “That doesn’t help.”

“Why don’t we just take our clothes off and … do things?”

Armie admired his beloved in his snow-white sweater and dark jeans with thick socks. He was rested, healthy, and beautiful. He would be more so nude. “Good idea,” Armie replied.

Timmy

Timmy’s alpha was large. This was not news. When standing side-by-side, Armie towered over Timmy, and Armie’s chest was almost double the size of his own. He had felt Armie on top of him before. His weight was familiar. However, not like this—not naked. Armie reclined between Timmy’s spread thighs, holding most of his upper body weight on his elbows so as not to crush the much smaller man.

Timmy stared up at him and tangled his fingers in Armie’s chest hair. “Hi.”

Armie’s fingertips caressed Timmy’s forehead and up into his hair. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real. Like I’ll wake up, and you’ll have been a dream.”

“No. I’m real. And I love you.”

“I love you, too, little one.”

Timmy smiled, couldn’t help himself. “You called me that the first day we met.”

“I remember thinking it should be weird, using a pet name on someone I’d just met, but it didn’t. It felt right.”

Timmy touched Armie’s lips. “You’ve always felt right.”

Armie kissed him, softly, paying extra attention to Timmy’s lower lip, which he sucked into his mouth before letting go.

“Make me yours,” Timmy said.

Armie

Armie feared he would never be able to refuse Timmy, not with those wide eyes and that precious pout. If temptation had a face, it would be Timothee Chalamet’s. It had been problematic over the last few weeks—but it need not be anymore. Timmy was officially twenty. He was twenty and married and bonded to Armie.

Armie knew high society saw omegas as property. Like expensive jewelry, they were to be shown off and worn, appreciated but not touched by anyone but their alphas. The wolf in Armie recognized this yearning, this need to howl, “Mine.” Especially when Armie leaned forward and licked the scar of Timmy’s bonding bite.

But Armie would not treat Timmy that way, not as a shiny bauble but as the independent, intelligent man Armie loved.

And could now freely touch.

He ran his hand down Timmy’s chest and stomach while Timmy kissed and licked at his mouth, their noses mushed together. Timmy was so tiny beneath him and yet, so strong. Stronger than Armie would ever be.

Timmy gasped when Armie moved his hand lower.

“Fuck.” The dirty word sounded even dirtier coming from Timmy’s mouth.

Timmy

Timmy had touched himself before, of course, but Armie’s hand around him was something else, as if the volume had been turned down Timmy’s entire life and Armie had cranked it up. Timmy took hold of Armie’s head, digging his fingers into the thick waves, and panted into Armie’s mouth. He thrust his hips up and down, and Armie let him. Armie let him explore these new sensations.

“Does that feel good?”

Armie’s mouth was so near, Timmy felt he swallowed the words. “Mm,” he replied.

“I want you to finish like this first, okay?”

Timmy shook his head. “No. With you.”

“That’ll happen, too, but I want to see you like this.”

Timmy opened his eyes and was not surprised to find Armie’s irises glowing gold. He assumed he was in a similar state. He grinned at the idea that just touching Timmy was enough to bring Armie’s wolf to the surface. Just touching Timmy brought him that much pleasure.

“I want to watch you come,” Armie whispered.

Already, heat built between his legs. Timmy’s whole body tingled.

“Look at me, Timmy.”

He hadn’t even noticed his eyes had slid shut. He opened them again and blushed at the hunger deeply etched in Armie’s expression.

When he came, tears escaped the corners of Timmy’s eyes.

Armie

Timmy’s entire body lurched beneath Armie when he finished. Mouth open wide, he didn’t make a sound. The sides of his face glittered wet, so Armie licked the salt water from his face. He waited a few minutes—minutes of Timmy clinging to him, trembling—to ask, “Why are you crying?”

“Overwhelmed,” Timmy said. Nuzzled beneath Armie, he sounded like he was inside a cave. “That felt so good, it almost hurt. I thought my heart might explode.”

Armie cradled him against his chest. “How am I ever going to make love to you? I fear you’ll burst into stardust.”

Timmy laughed, his breath warm and wet against Armie’s skin. “I will not.”

“You might.”

Timmy nibbled his chin on his journey to making eye contact. “Let’s find out.”

Armie knew Timmy had fingered himself before; he’d listened to one such occurrence on the phone what felt like a million years ago. Armie doing it was different. His fingers were much bigger, for one, but it was also supremely intimate. It was a gift Timmy was giving him, and Armie did not overlook such treasure.

They remained chest-to-chest through it all, with one of Timmy’s legs hiked up over Armie’s hip. As Armie coaxed both moan and whimper from his omega, Timmy used his fingers and mouth to map Armie’s torso. Kitten licks turned to nibbles and one deep, painful bite when Armie hit the right spot. He hoped to wake with a bruise as a reminder.

Timmy

Timmy was on fire. His entire body yearned for Armie’s touch. The scent of arousal licked at him like flames until Timmy gave in and begged for Armie to take him.

Armie gently removed his fingers. “Timmy, look at me.”

He snapped to attention. It was his wolf responding to Armie’s.

“If anything hurts, tell me immediately. Understand?”

Timmy nodded. Even though he was in a haze, floating, he knew to nod.

Armie flipped Timmy over and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. He knelt behind him and rested his chest on Timmy’s back. He kissed his— _their_ —bonding mark and said, “Thank you.”

Brain muddled, Timmy asked, “For what?”

“Don’t know. It felt like the right thing to say.”

Timmy turned his head so he could see Armie, and although Armie’s eyes still glowed gold, a line of worry marred the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be okay,” Timmy said. “I was made for you.”

The concern on Armie’s face melted away. He smiled and swooped down to give Timmy a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.

It felt weird at first, an intrusion—until it didn’t. As soon as Timmy acclimated to the feel of his alpha inside him, Timmy’s fangs came out. His head drooped forward. He supported himself with one hand and, with the other, clung to the strong arms wrapped around his chest and waist.

“Alpha,” he mumbled but soon couldn’t speak. Just feel.

Armie

He would not be forceful with Timmy, not rough. It wasn’t Timmy. It wasn’t how they were together. Instead, Armie kept his pace slow and deep until it seemed his flesh melded with Timmy’s. Their breath intermingled and settled into the same rhythm. The only reminder that Armie was still himself was the sound of Timmy whispering his name like a prayer. It certainly felt like an act of worship, the way their bodies fit so perfectly and moved so in sync.

When Timmy’s hand covered Armie’s, he thought he might weep at the tender touch.

“I’m here,” Armie said. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Timmy lifted his head and sought Armie’s mouth, which he gave without hesitation. They didn’t kiss so much as press faces together, both of them too overwrought with pleasure to muster an artful lip lock.

Timmy’s forehead wrinkled, followed by a muffled sob. His body embraced Armie so deliciously as he came a second time. Armie, shocked by Timmy’s responsiveness, stopped moving and supported his wilted omega’s weight in his arms.

“Don’t stop,” Timmy mumbled. “Don’t stop …”

Timmy’s voice, trembling and cracked, urged Armie on until he found his own completion. When he came, he bit Timmy’s bonding mark without breaking the skin, the wolf within sated and still.

Armie rolled them both onto their sides and cradled Timmy with his back against Armie’s front. They gasped for breath, stuck together by sweat.

“Little one?” Armie whispered.

Timmy

It wasn’t his name, but it was him. Someone was calling for him. Timmy rubbed his face on the pillow and realized it was Armie.

“Mm?” He wasn’t sure he could string a sentence together just yet.

“Are you all right?”

“Mm.” He tangled his fingers with Armie’s, wrapped around his ribs.

“Can you speak?”

Timmy shook his head, and Armie chuckled behind him.

He kissed the back of Timmy’s shoulder. “I suppose that’s a good sign.”

They rested in silence for … Timmy wasn’t sure how long. Time didn’t exist that night. Later, Timmy licked his lips. “Thirsty.”

“Oh, he’s talking again.” Armie gave a sarcastic celebratory “whoop.”

Timmy rubbed his face on Armie’s right tricep in response.

“Will you be all right if I run down to the kitchen for a moment? Bring us some sustenance.”

Timmy thought about it and eventually nodded yes. “Only if you hurry, though.”

“I will run the entire way, but let me clean us up first.”

Timmy watched Armie’s muscular ass when he approached the pile of discarded clothes from earlier. Sad to see him cover his bare skin with slacks, but Timmy would rectify that soon.

Armie returned from the bathroom with a wet cloth. Timmy allowed himself to be maneuvered as Armie wiped away the stickiness and then did the same to himself and tossed the towel on the floor.

“Be right back.” He kissed Timmy and headed for the door.

Once open, though, he halted. Then laughed and leaned down. He stood up with a tray full of food and water in his hands.

“Luca,” Timmy said.

“Luca indeed.”

Both naked again, they fed each other fruit and small slices of sharp cheese. They sipped from a single glass of wine, passed between them.

“I think I’d like to have a lot of sex,” Timmy said, and Armie almost choked on his drink.

Armie

“Well.” Armie cleared his throat. “I can support that.”

Timmy grinned, and Armie couldn’t remember a time when Timmy’s smile hadn’t been a part of his life. There remained flashes of the terribly broken boy he’d first met, but he hoped those flashes would fade, replaced by the Timmy before him—the young man who exuded playfulness and glee.

Timmy took the glass of wine from Armie’s hand and set it on the bedside table. And then, Armie had a naked Timmy straddling his equally naked lap. With hands on Armie’s shoulders, Timmy rubbed himself against Armie’s abdomen. “Let’s do it this way now.”

Armie clutched Timmy’s hips. “I need a little bit more recovery time before we do that.”

Timmy pouted, so Armie tapped his bottom lip with his finger.

“I’m young, but apparently don’t have your stamina.”

“No?” Timmy bit the tip of his tongue and quirked his eyebrow. “I’m not sure I believe you.” He put his hand in the center of Armie’s chest and pushed. Armie allowed himself to be manhandled, expecting another cuddle session. Instead, Timmy climbed off his lap and knelt between Armie’s knees instead. He licked his lips, and before Armie registered his intent, Timmy had his mouth on him.

Armie shot up onto his elbows. “Wh …” He moaned.

There wasn’t much talking the rest of the night. Words were replaced by hisses and stuttered vowels. Armie had never been so in tune with a lover, and Timmy turned out to be insatiable. When the quiet whisper of sunrise crept through the window, they still hadn’t slept but had mapped each other’s bodies.

Armie had once said he wanted to kiss every inch of Timmy like a cartographer discovering new land. He’d done that, and Timmy had created his own map of Armie, as well. Maps of each other, to each other, so that they could always find their ways home.

_Eight months later …_

Armie

From the back porch, Armie watched Timmy nap down in the garden on a weatherworn duvet. With summer in full effect, Timmy spent most of his free time outside, soaking up the sun. His skin sported a golden glow, and his brown hair—long, past his ears now—bragged unexpected red highlights. Armie liked his freckles the most, although they did make Timmy look younger, and Timmy _hated_ looking younger. At least around the offices of Chalamet Oil.

He wasn’t running the company yet. The board had taken control following Samuel’s suicide. They had uncovered his crooked dealings and were working hard to build confidence in the company again while Timmy attended business school. True, there had been some initial obstacles, but Armie had learned Timmy always got what he wanted—in bed and in life. He carried the quiet grace of his mother but also the charisma and power of his dad.

“Lemonade, sir?” Luca appeared with two sweating glasses on a silver tray.

“Thank you, Luca.” He took a sip. Delicious and fresh-squeezed by Dot, of course.

“I understand we should expect your parents around five?”

“Yes.” Carl and Amanda Hammer came over for a weekly dinner, every Sunday night. Despite Luca’s long ago pronouncement that weekends were not a thing at Chalamet Oil, they were for Timmy and Armie. Timmy worked hard, but not _that_ hard. “Is everything ready in my office?”

Luca scoffed. “What do you think?” And descended the steps to a reclining Timmy.

Armie chuckled. Even if Armie was Timmy’s fated mate—and husband for the past eight months—Luca still liked to give him attitude. If Luca ever started doting on Armie the way he doted on Timmy, Armie would worry.

Once Luca went back inside, Armie approached his omega. He stood directly in front of Timmy’s chair, casting a long shadow on the man he loved.

Timmy grumbled. “You’re in my sun.”

“Come inside.”

“But it’s …” He squinted up at Armie and flailed his hands up and around as if to say, “Look at all the beauty!”

Armie gulped down his lemonade and set it beside Timmy’s on a little glass table. “It’s worth it. Come on.” He extended his hand, and Timmy took it, even if he was frowning the whole time.

Inside the Chalamet Estate, they walked past photos and paintings of Timmy’s parents, along with a painting of the two of them. All the family portraits had gone back up following Samuel’s suicide, and although Timmy still had the occasional crying fit, his grief had gone from an open wound to a scar. The black sludge hadn’t threatened in months. In fact, it had been downgraded to a “dark cloud.” Armie chalked that up to Timmy’s continued therapy sessions and occasional meetings with Dr. Alastair, who supported Timmy’s intention to continue taking suppressants for the foreseeable future, societal norms be damned.

Timmy and Armie’s marriage wasn’t “normal,” according to high society, and they’d received a good amount of guff for it. Luckily, neither of them paid much attention to that stuff. The only time they attended galas was if they were business-related, and Timmy certainly was not sitting at home, hosting omega tea parties. He was working hard to prepare for his eventual take over of his family’s company, and no one could stop him.

With Timmy’s hand in his, Armie led him up one, two, three staircases until they ended up in Armie’s office, the cozy attic where he wrote. Once there, Armie stepped back and let Timmy make assumptions.

As Luca had said, the scene was set. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket. Two glasses waited on the desk, and bright red ribbon embraced a thick stack of paper.

“No,” Timmy said. He spun on Armie, tiny fists latching onto the front of his shirt. “Did you finish it?” His face split into a smile that could have been seen from space. “Did you?” He used his grip on Armie’s shirt to shake him forward and back.

Armie shrugged. “I might have.”

“Oh, my God!” Timmy relinquished his grip on Armie so that he could instead lift Armie’s book from the desk and hug it to his chest. Like a parent with a newborn pup, he cooed down at the pages. “I want to start reading it now. Can I start reading it now?”

“Wait. Just …” He pried Timmy’s arms open, removed the manuscript, and returned it to the desk.

“Armie!” He crossed his arms and stomped one foot. The thin, white t-shirt he wore did nothing to hide how much he’d filled out since they’d first met. Lean muscle threatened to distract Armie, but he would not be deterred.

“Listen, I changed the book.”

Timmy’s forehead wrinkled. “What?”

“Most of the story is the same, but I changed one, well, big thing, and I wanted to warn you before you started reading.”

Timmy didn’t move, but Armie could sense him getting nervous, tense. That wouldn’t do.

He soldiered on. “For years, I couldn’t picture the hero’s face. Maybe I saw myself as the hero, so I always looked at things through his eyes, but even that felt wrong. Like I was missing something. Then, I met you.” He took hold of Timmy’s chin and tilted his head back. “You’re my hero, Timmy. You’re the hero in my book.”

His chin escaped Armie’s grip because it pulled back in shock. “What? Me? I’m not …” He shook his head and snickered.

“It’s you,” Armie said. “Since the day I met you, it’s been you. My brave little one.”

Timmy pointed at himself. “You … you think I’m brave?”

Armie slung an arm around Timmy’s shoulders and pointed to the ribbon-wrapped pages on his desk. “You’ll have to read to find out.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fate of the Moon" Spotify song list!!!!!
> 
> Click [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2CqEwiKJeqSvHeAGjUKBG4?si=d70mUUSMQR6i4jcfGpKlgQ).
> 
> Let me know if you have any suggestions for songs to add!
> 
> Also check out this amazing art by kanat.one on Instagram. Click [HERE](https://www.instagram.com/p/CFMgam6gLGs/). Looks just the way I picture Armie and his little one in this story!

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](http://saradobiebauer.tumblr.com/)! I'm ridiculously in love with Timmy over there.


End file.
